The things people have to go through
by Really You HAD to do that
Summary: The teams worst nightmare has just begun. A intelligent new UNSUB is going after those who have the same or larger I.Q. than him. When a bomb rips apart the team, leaving one in hospital, and another sent away to a location the rest of the team doesn't know. BAD BOY REID! in later chapters, so you'll have to read on to find out ;) read and Reveiw please!
1. The beginning of the fall

**Ummmm, so, this is set aroundabouts season seven, with Emily back and everything. There really isn't anything much else to say, I've just had this thought buzzing around my head for a while.**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own a criminal Minds, thanks for asking.**

***unbetaed* (did I spell that right?)**

"He should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Don't not, under any circumstances, approach him, just call our emergency hot line that is appearing at the bottom of your screen now." JJ concluded, finishing the profile for the media.

Their latest victim had been in Iowa, but Garcia had tracked a multiple of killings nationwide, all of whom had had a note left behind at the crime scenes, daring the inspectors to out-wit him. So far, the victims had been poisoned, gassed, shot, impaled with various sharp objects by means of a complex contraption, burnt, and stabbed.

But the notes weren't the only connections between the killings. Each victim had an I.Q. exceeding 150.

As soon as they found out, Hotch had immediately banned Reid from the field, who sulked around the police station, only allowed to leave when they were on their way to the next crime scene or going to the hotel for the night, accompanied by Hotch or Morgan, sometimes both. When Reid asked them if Hotch would be Molly-coddled if an UNSUB started going after lawyers gone to the force, he wasn't given an answer. They all knew he was the child of the team, even though he had turned thirty not too long ago.

They believed that their UNSUB was exceptionally intelligent, and proved so when by being frustratingly three steps ahead of them. The notes were taunting and vindictive, sometimes giving vague details of the next victim before they were dead. They guessed he would be between 20 and 35 to be able to keep up with the changing locations, and get past the numerous defences that his targets had put in place, and for the same reason, very fit. He could be white or black, because he never left his skin exposed. In fact, they weren't sure wether he was a he, aside from a slightly masculine sound of his words, of which he never spoke aloud, which led to either he had a medical condition that prevented him from speaking, or was just avoiding them narrowing down their pool of suspects, which was well over a hundred thousand.

He was extremely jealous of other geniuses, and sought to kill them off until he was the only one left.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

The team were heading in for the night, each carrying a case laden with clothes and the essential toiletries. Morgan kept close to Reid, still remembering scenes from Tobais Hankel's torture. It wasn't as if Reid couldn't look after himself, but he was a magnet for danger, and Morgan treated Reid like a little brother, and simply couldn't envision something dreadful happening to him again, after all he had already been through.

The rest of the team were slightly ahead of them, because Reid's suitcase had been buried under all the others, and Morgan had waited for him. As the crossed the parking bays toward the elevator, a faint sound that he would normally pass for some electrical machine whirring stirred a memory from long ago, before the BAU, when he had first joined the force.

When he was on the bomb squad.

"Get back! Get back!" He bellowed, and took Reid in a flying tackle as a blue Nissan they had just passed ripped itself apart, exploding into a ball of flame, shaking the walls and the very air. The shockwave sent them sprawling on the hard concrete, and set off the surrounding car alarms wailing. Dust swirled thick and heavy in the air, pressing down on them, smothering him. Dimly, Morgan became aware of a shard of metal embedded in his lower back, and the thick rivulets of his own blood running down his body.

It was as if everything was covered by a thick cloth, muffling his fellow teammates yells. He felt completely detached, like he would if he was watching some one else die on television, or perhaps a movie. He then became aware of Reid struggling from underneath him, panicked by the amount of blood he knew wasn't his. Reid tore a piece of his shirt and pressed down around the shard, hoping to stem the bleeding, all the while shouting himself hoarse at their teammates, at God, at the UNSUB, and at Morgan.

Derek wondered why Spencer was pressing down on his wound, all was really doing was making the pain worse, and was yelling at him too. If he was going to die, why was Reid trying so hard to make it worse for him? Shouldn't he be fine with being grateful that he had just saved his life? He was sure he had, or had he just slipped backwards, and landed on some debris? The thought gave him a unreasonable urge to laugh, but that just brought on more waves of pain. Why was he in pain in the first place anyway? Reid was really starting to get on his nerves now, what was he playing at? Maybe this was all a practical joke?

Now someone had turned on a terrible klaxon, disrupting whatever he had been doing in the first place even further. People in crisp white uniforms were lifting him onto a bed, which was ridiculous, he was perfectly capable of walking. Then someone had forced a mask over his face, which was blowing funny tasting air into his mouth, and he felt an unreasonable need to go to sleep.

As his eyelids began to droop, he noticed Reid standing there, covered in blood with an anguished expression on his face, and worried if he was in pain, and when the ambulance would tend to him.

**Cliffy! Sorry, I had to, I couldn't resist. I'll try to update as fast as I can, but reviews would make me go a whole lot faster!**


	2. Cruel suspense

**Yaaaay! So, here's the new chapter, hope you like it and stuff, erm... Yeah. I updated as fast as I could.**

**I LOVED the response by the way, I think I got about 27 emails... And that was only at the end of the day :) and four reviews, just for the first chapter! I literally paused the episode I was watching, (2x15 Revelations; commentary version) and did a wild dance around the room, but the effect was kinda lost when I slipped on a pillow. *_* **

**Disclaimer: the usual Yadda Yadda Yadda.**

The rest of the team were huddled together in the waiting room, huddled in the uncomfortable chairs, each lost in thought, each refusing to say a word. It was nearly two in the morning, but no one mentioned retiring for the night, they would remain in that waiting room as the hours dwindled past; and as the alarming stack of coffee cups grew higher.

Hotch was staring blankly at his hands, silently blaming himself over and over. What would've happened if he had waited with Morgan for Reid to collect his luggage, instead of hurrying with the others to the lift, his thoughts intent on calling home in hope of catching a conversation with his son, Jack? Sure, he had no real experience whatsoever in recognising the sound of an explosive device ready to blow, but maybe he could've been the one to tackle Reid out of the way, while Derek ran and cleared himself a few more metres? Would he be the one in the operating room, under a scathing light, while a team of surgeons did their best? Never though, somehow did he blame Reid on what had happened. It just wasn't his fault, and never would be, in his thoughts.

Emily was leaning heavily on the back of her chair, eyes closed, but that didn't stop the tears leaking and rolling down her face. She kept reliving the explosion over and over again; Morgan had warned them, just in time, and they had all dropped to the ground, with no hesitation whatsoever. Over the years all of the team had bonded together and followed each others directions and theories without qualm. And then, when the shaking had stopped she had glimpsed the pair of them, both covered in blood, Reid trying desperately to hold on tightly to Morgans life, all the while cursing the whole world and everything on it. All that blood had brought back bad memories of Doyle, too, and she feared if she could continue in this post much longer.

Hunched over, his hands clasped in prayer, Rossi muttered in Italian all the prayers he could remember, and then started all over again through the cycle. After all the team were routinely put through, which lost them brave agents, could they suffer such a break? Even if Morgan survived -which he hoped with every fibre of his being- he knew the choice which Reid would make. If their team fell apart again, what would he do? He knew he wouldn't put up with a transfer, and he was all alone, apart from memories from his ex-wives littered around his house. Would he maybe write another book? The future was too uncertain to be certain of anything.

Garcia and JJ were sticking close to each other, conversing quietly, tears running down their cheeks. At first their conversation had been on wishing Derek to pull through, but that just deepened the pain. Instead, they shared their fondest memories about him, all the jokes they could remember, his complete dominance in a fight, how much he cared for all of them, they even skipped over the shadowy topic of his past, and how awful it must of been. When that conversation dried out, they moved onto silly little things, to keep their mind off everything, like the time Henry had gotten into a tantrum and threw his food onto the ceiling.

Reid remained silent, his face gaunt with deep dark circles under his eyes, absentmindedly wiping blood off his hands that was no longer there. He felt a complete, everlasting anger, at the UNSUB, at himself, at the hospital, and the people who gave their attacker the means to construct the bomb, at the designers who were determined to make these chairs so damn uncomfortable, at the whole world, really. He felt like taking to the streets, at letting himself loose at a warehouse, shooting at the walls, ripping at the interior and smashing everything he could lay his hands on, because it just wasn't _fair! _

It wasn't fair how Morgan had self-lessley protected him from harm, or the sequence of events that had twisted the UNSUB's mind to make him slowly pick off the most intelligent of the world. He knew what he had to do, to protect the family that he never had.

The six of them were jolted from their thoughts as a harried-looking doctor hurried towards them. "Family of Derek Morgan?" He asked with apprehensively.

"The closest thing to it, his proper family are in the air from Chicago at this very moment" Hotch replied immediately. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then remembered that his patient was a FBI agent, so the assembled people that had been waiting for more than 6 hours, so they were probably SSA agents too.

"We have removed the shard and stemmed the flow of blood, and expect him to make a full recovery." He started, and was met with gasps of relief. "But, the area where he was injured is extremely sensitive, and he will have to be put on a extensive plan of anti-biotic's and phsio-therapy to recuperate to his full extent of fitness, and we expect between a year and a half to two years the only thing he will have left is a rather unattractive scar."

"He'll be distraught" Prentiss joked feebly, and was only supplied with a few nervous laughs.

"Can we go see him?" Rossi asked.

"Of course, but he is currently unconscious, if you would follow me," he said and lead the way down the hall and into a small room containing only one bed and a significantly paler Derek Morgan on top of it, connected to various machines which beeped and whirred, unaware of the sad scene.

A deafening silence stretched, as they all gazed down at their injured colleague, who was sleeping peacefully enough, a blank expression on his face. JJ and Garcia were clutching his hands, careful to avoid the I.V.'s and finger clamps, while the rest of them settled in chairs assembled around his bed.

After a while, Reid cleared his throat, and spoke, his voice hoarse from misuse. "You realise what this means, right?" He was met with only a couple quizzical looks, the others wore grave expressions.

"I'm going to go into hiding until you guys catch this son of a bitch."

**:D couldn't help myself, had to do the last line like that, and here you are, the beginning of badass Reid! Also, I'm not that mean that I would kill of Morgan, it's on my list of things that I forbid myself to do. Hope you didn't find this chapter too boring, I just had too much trouble trying to incorporate zombies bursting into the waiting room :( anyway, please review!**


	3. I couldn't live with myself Morgan

**Heeeeey! Chapter 3! I know this one didn't come out as quickly, but my mother kept rattling on about how I should do my homework since school has started, and so I haven't had much time. Also, I have been retreading the Harry Potter series, but I've finished them now, so even more time :)**

Anyway, response was wonderful, and like, ANOTHER FIVE REVEIWS! I did another crazy dancing thing, dodged the pillow, but tripped over my own feet and crashed head first into the wall. Ouchie.

Disclaimer: if pre-fixes didn't exist, then this would be a claimer.

"You don't have to go." Morgan argued for the tenth time, leaning on a pair of crutcher's that he openly despised. the team was assembled in the middle of the departures lounge, to see Reid off on a flight to Atlanta, after which he would undoubtedly take another flight under another name, to another place, and then go somewhere else, and again, and again, traveling not only by boat, and probably crossing borders at least once. The Bureau weren't taking any risks.

"Yes I do" Reid replied softly.

"Why? No one got really hurt, and heck, you would make this case go by faster!" He retorted.

"No one got hurt this time because he didn't account for your previous experience, but I don't think even you can hear poisoned coffee, or a sniper a hundred metres away, or- or a drop knife contraption that'll nail the next person to leave through the back door! You guys will catch him much easier if you aren't constantly being attacked!" Reid hissed furiously at him, growing tired of Morgans constant denial of the obvious.

"Reid, look at me! I'm alright! Plus, I think we all look after ourselves just fine!" At his last sentence, he looked around expectantly at the team, looking for support. No one said anything, their faces could've been set in concrete.

"Maybe you might've not gotten seriously hurt this time, but what about next time? Or the time after? I couldn't live with myself if one of you guys got hurt on my account, all because I was too cowardly to stay. I need to do this, but I can't leave on bad terms with you. Just please stop arguing." Reid finished softly.

Derek looked long and hard at his teammate that he considered the little brother he had never known, and sighed, giving in. "Fine. But don't expect me to be supportive."

Spencer grinned. He knew it was the best he could get out of Morgan, and was in fact surprised and pleased that he had accomplished so much. The team then meandered around the airport shops, occasionally trying on silly hats or sunglasses to the amusement of the others. As they joked and talked, they all blatantly ignored the fact that this was the last time they would see their resident genius in a while.

Finally the call to board his flight came, and the team all had their separate farewells, in which Morgan asked Reid to "send him a postcard" which brought on uneasy laughter. As the final warning call came, he set off, only looking back when he was stepping onto the bridge, seeing his family there, huddled together in the middle of the bustling foot traffic, and wished he could've had a camera to take a picture.

Then he disappeared from sight, to be taken to a place they had no idea of.

**Yea, I know this is like a super short chapter, but its more of a filler, next chapter I hope will be better, and I'll try to update in 24 hours.**


	4. The CIA is officially mental

**Ok, on to chapter 4! **

**Yeah, so, I might not of gotten any reviews, but I didn't expect many because it was short and kinda c**p. hopefully this one is better :D**

**Disclaimer: not mine, expect the plot; everything goes to whoever owns criminal minds.**

The team immediately disliked Ryain Marcel, the replacement for Reid, all on different levels.

He was about average height, but heavily built (border lining on chubby) so it made him seem shorter than he actually was. He combed back his greasy brown hair away from his pudgy face, with muddy grey eyes on either side of a bulbous nose with unequal proportions to the rest of his head. His lips were puffy and large, kept exceptionally soft with regular doses of chap stick, and were the centre of his care; he had no children or was married, and the team was yet to see the girlfriend he boasted of. He wore tight suits, with always an exceptionally bright tie that made your eyes water when you looked straight at it, and always put on the same pair of over polished, Italian leather pointed shoes.

His work was average, at times, but the rest of the team contested strongly that a trainee of their choice could do better. He acted smarter than all of them put together, but they knew all too well that he would have to have been well under 150 I.Q. to be able to gather enough courage to apply for the opening.

Garcia tried, at first, to become friends with him, but he constantly rebuffed them, with his_ I'm so much better than you _attitude. He looked down on her because she was a tech, as if she had thrown her life away and was working at the closest fast-food joint. He smirked when she couldn't trace a call, or a I.P. address, and criticised her loudly when so, and insulted her behind her back with the rest of the team, who were shocked that the jerk had even managed to get through FBI training.

JJ was disgusted by his air of confidence, how he walked around -even in her office and Hotch's- like he owned the floor, lamps and the very breath in their body. When he was around, or working closely with her, he was always too close for comfort- leaning over her to look at a screen or paper, and felt him give an almost in audible cheeky sniff of her hair, even though he knew her to be married. When he did so, she would stand swiftly and go to a matter of great importance.

Ryain treated Rossi with only a shred more respect than Garcia or JJ, often treating him like he was already in a retirement home, and too slow to keep up with the fast-paced life the BAU profilers had. He usually avoided close conversations with him, but when they were bouncing theories off each other, he took control and wouldn't allow for his input, only when to confirm and agree with him. In a small sentence; Marcel irked the heck out of him.

Emily was furious that their superiors had dared to send someone so incompetent; and photocopied the case files on the intelligence hunter and brought them back to her apartment, and stuck them to a blank wall, spending her free time reminiscing over it, and looking forward to when Reid came back, and Ryain would be sent back to wherever he came from. At first he had tried similar advances on her that he had done on JJ, but she went off on such a rant about sexism and equality that had him cowering, slumped in his chair, and the surrounding agents watching with a mingled sense of fear, pleasure and amusement.

But Morgan made Prentiss look merely irritated next to him. Yes, at first head tried to be nice to him, under the pretence that Reid would be back soon, but he had to make the most of his situation. But his natural skill for getting on well with others was over-ridden by his foul attitude towards others in the work room. Marcel took him for no more than a casual brute assigned to the unit to break down doors, and spoke slower than normal when around him in a clear voice, and thought him useless while he was confined to his crutches. Morgan's behaviour towards him only reinforced his presumption; he grew more resigned, keeping his mind to himself, hardly speaking up at their meetings, where he kept his muscles clenched, and his voice strained, as if to stop himself from leaping up and landing him one.

But with Hotch he tip-toed around him, keeping to his best behaviour when he was in his presence, because he knew if Hotch had enough against him, he would be kicked off as many hoped and be sent back to training the cadets. Of course, Hotch had found out about how rotten to the core Marcel was, and filed for his removal, but it was pushed away with claims that he was unwelcoming to the new agent because he was replacing Reid, who they all considered a younger, but highly intelligent younger brother. It was one on the downsides of working with people with a degree in psychology.

And so Ryain Marcel stayed, to their great displeasure.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Reid had been traveling for three days and was suffering greatly from jet lag, motion sickness and home sickness, all at the same time. He had been on 8 different flights, 4 boat rides, and traveled many kilometres in a range of cars; from a limousine, to a ridden down Subaru with an array of panels, inside and out. Every time He was unsure quite exactly where he was, just that he had to be in either South or North America, or perhaps at a stretch, western parts of Europe. This was due to as he had spent his last flight in a rattling postal plane, blindfolded, and had fallen to sleep in spite of himself swearing he wouldn't in a long drive, spent in a back seat, unable too see outside through the blacked-out windows.

The super high security he thought was to stop the UNSUB finding him, and Garcia.

His instructions were to go into the hotel he was dropped off at, and go straight to room 224, which he would find unlocked with the keys on top of the curtain rail. On the room keys a second key has been attached, and that's for the second drawer to the left of the kitchen sink, where he would find his next and final instructions.

He rotated slowly on the spot, taking in his surroundings, and spotted the Eiffel Tower, and groaned._ The CIA has officially been corrupt with mad people. _He concluded.

**Hehehehehe :D let's play a little game of guess where Reid is? I don't think it should be too hard :) So, just telling you that the first bit about Ryain Marcel was like two weeks after Reid left, and the second Reid bit is when he's just arrived at the undisclosed location that he'll be living in, sorry if it was confusing. Update time.. I don't know exactly what happens next and the chapter after that, and the chapter after that, just some ingenious twists that are coming up, so I honestly have no idea :)**


	5. Stupid mistakes

**Okay, and... It's chapter 5! So, I've done some brainstorms and stuff (while eating twisties) and I now realise what's going to happen in this story! Thanks to those twisties, I have put a whole lot of plot knots, which start right now, in this chapter :D**

**Loved all the response, ANOTHER FIVE REVEIWS! I feel like a freaking rockstar! Crazy dance time, dodged the pillow, made sure my feet kept out of each others way, but I was so busy looking down that I didn't notice how close I was to the stairs, and fell down them :( my bruises are a weird shade of black, blue and green all mixed together. Uggh.**

**Disclaimer: not mine :(**

"Tarin Drew! FBI! Come out through the door slowly, and put your weapon on the ground!" Hotch commanded as he stood flat against the wall, one hand curled around the trigger, the other on the knob, ready to open the door. Prentiss was poised on the other side, gun in hand, to be the first one in, taking Morgans spot, as he was still confined to his crutches, to his great annoyance.

They had taken a case in Dallas, with a text-book sexual sadist on the loose. They had handled many of these cases with ease, but this was the first time that they were taking on an UNSUB, who, if the team was right (and they usually were), wouldn't go down without a last stand, which in his mind, ended with a glorious death- wether it was his own or Bella Grevan's -who he had tracked down by means of her insurance claims- with Ryain Marcel, who wasn't known for his sporting capabilities.

No answer emitted from the other side of the wall, and Hotch twisted the knob sharply and quickly swung open the door, sending it crashing noisily against the plasterboard. He filed in after Emily and several SWAT agents rushed in, guns held high, aiming at Drew, who was in the act of stabbing his victim, who was bleeding profoundly over the floor.

He felt a twinge of regret, if only they had come to their conclusion sooner, then Bella Grevan would've had complete certainty of life, it now depended on how fast they could control the situation, and rush her to the waiting ambulance outside.

He was about to speak when Ryain cut in front of him, blocking his line of fire and sight of the proceedings, a mistake the training instructors had drilled into them numerous times. Annoyed at Marcel's mess up, he listened carefully.

"Put down the knife and step away, Tarin." Marcel said firmly, and Hotch assumed he was looking deep into his eyes, and continued. "There's now way out for you to go free, but its your choice wether you leave this building dead or alive"

"I must finish my work." Drew replied in calm gravely tones, and Marcel huffed.

"She's almost gone anyway, you have completed your fantasy" Ryain shot back.

It had been the wrong thing to say. Hotch shoved Marcel out of the way, perhaps a little more roughly than nessasary, and fired as Tarin Drew swung at Bella for the last time. His bullets joined the others from the SWAT agents and Emily, and Drew's body staggered backwards by the force behind the bullets, and he crashed against the window, slumping down, leaving a streak of blood behind.

Grimly, they all filed out of the building, Marcel limping slightly, Hotch noticed with satisfaction. As he passed through the doorway, he spotted the ambulances doors swing shut and speed off, containing Bella Grevan, who would be fighting for her life.

=================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)===============

Reid let himself into room 224, taking in the Ikea furniture and worn carpet. It wasn't the most luxurious hotel he had ever stayed in, but it certainly wasn't the seediest. He crossed to the window, which showed a splendid view of the car park. Turning away, he took in the room properly.

A double bed was pushed against the wall, clothed in cream linen, beside it a bedside table. Right in the middle a rectangular dinning table stood, with a small kitchen, on the opposite side to the bed in the corner closest to the door, but further inspection revealed it wouldn't be much good farther than heating up take-aways, or baking chicken nuggets or hash browns in the one rack oven. Beside the kitchen there was a cupboard containing a laundry unit. Arranged around an old box T.V. were a few armchairs, accompanied by a low coffee table.

As his eyes raked over it, Reid noticed a sheet of paper left there, assuming it was his "instructions" the driver had mentioned he picked it up and read it under a few seconds. Shocked, he retread it.

_To Reid,_

_I have chosen your location, -which you have undoubtedly already recognised- due to a bit of reverse psychology. After all, this UNSUB will undoubtedly be expecting the CIA to send you off to one of the larger cities, where you would work at a convenience store, or something similar. Never, would the CIA send you off to a place where you have spent excessive amounts of time, where you might be recognised. _

_Which is exactly why I'm sending you to Las Vegas._

_The CIA are, as always extremely secretive, especially on why they have requested that I handle your case, but that is to be expected from them. In the end, it could just be a trial run for higher security, with the CIA, you can never be sure. _

_Your name is now Darren Froan, and you grew up in New York, but was expelled out of high school, you then spent quite some years going from job to job. A few months ago you took a path typical of most Las Vegas gamblers; life was going nowhere for you, you were alone, so you packed up your suitcase and took off to Vegas, chasing after money the easy way._

_You'll find you ID's and several boxes of hair dye, (I recommend using more than one colour if you want to fit in) large quantities of hair gel, green eye contacts, -which work as proper contacts as well, so there'll be no need for you to wear your glasses- and a large amount of money (for new clothes -make sure they fit you alias- food, etc.) taped inside the washing machine._

_From now on, trawl around the casinos, and collect a small fortune (which I believe you are more than capable of) and check into one of the many swanky hotels on the strip. Go to parties let loose, and make a group of friends, and most importantly, be nowhere near yourself._

Out of the whole letter, it was the signature that shocked him the most. Slowly, he sunk down into an armchair. The person who wrote that letter, who in fact it now turned out to be in charge of his security, was the last person he would of thought it would be.

**Muhahahaha! Now, lets play a little game of guess who wrote that letter? Review please!**


	6. Stay safe Right

**What's that? Is it a plane, is it a bird? I know! It's a retarded flying seal! Nope, it just chapter six! **

**Thank you so much to all who faved, followed, and REVIEWED! I GOT FOUR! YUS! So then I dodged the pillow, made sure my feet were well away from each other, caught the banister to stop from falling, pushed myself back, but went backwards rolley polley thingy over the back of the couch :(**

**Right, so now Reid and the team are at the same time, last chapter and the one before that the team was a few weeks ahead, just to clear that up if you were confused.**

**Warning: Mild swearing, bad boy Reid and everything that implies. Nothing M, just thought I might have to put this in here, if you know, there's any 8 year olds reading this. I hope not :(**

**Disclaimer: Just the usual, not mine.**

Darren Froan entered the busy nightclub through the hotels casino, and spotted Bruce and the others leaning against the bar, talking and hollering with drunken laughter. Soon, Mike spotted his distinctive green-black hair, all spiked up with the tips dyed sparkly gold, and flashy-but-tattered designer clothes that he had bought with the money he so uncannily won at the casino's to the continuing amazement of his friends. Darren didn't even try to explain the mathematics behind it, and used it as a way to practise his great mind.

"Hey!" He shouted, waving his arms around like a maniac, spilling his drink and some others "Over here!" As he made his way towards them, he was greeted by large smiles and Reco shouting him a drink. He fought down a grimace, he didn't like drinking much, but there was no handy pot plant behind him, or an unsuspecting women's handbag, to pour it in, so he would have to except the cocktail with a grateful smile and chug it.

"Sooooooo, how was it?" Bruce asked, giggling like a six year old girl and wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, a cheeky grin plastered all over his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your question" He answered evasively.

All of the guys snorted unbelievingly. "Oh come on, you were on that dance floor with every girl throwing themselves at you, and then a ten comes along, whispers in your ear and drags you off somewhere. It's pretty obvious." One of them said. The group had a game of rating the appeal of the girls they ogled.

"Wow, Josh, I thought you were so pissed off your face, but that was, what? A total two sentences? I'm so proud of you!" Darren answered in a sarcastic voice, but really he meant it, he hated the lifestyle of these scumbags, but he would only stand out, looking like he did and not acting like it. But then again, there was something enticing about partying every night, a night of laughing and fun, no strings attached. It was far away from the horrific images his old job had had. _No, not my old job, it's still mine, that life. I'm just on a horribly extended vacation. _He decided firmly.

"He's not denying it!" Mike hollered.

"Come on, spillllllllllllllllll!" They all chorused, but all hopelessly out of time to each other.

He sighed, and leaned against a barstool, in a crude imitation of dreaminess. "It was wonderful. The best of the year." He announced. In reality, he had slipped her some crushed up sleeping pills, which combined with the significant amount of alcohol, meant that she would wake up in the services closet where he left her in with no recollection of the night before and a mild headache.

After they heard this, they all jeered. "It's the first week of January!" One pointed out, and his heart ached, remembering the New Years part he had had last year. The team had all gotten dressed up, -well, JJ had come along to his apartment with an outfit she had chosen and forced him into it- and gone to one of the better clubs and partied the year away. It had been was carefree and loose, an escape from the tough life they led. He had a picture from that night, with him in the centre blushing profusely while Emily and JJ were bending down on either side of him, kissing his cheeks while Morgan, Garcia, Hotch and Rossi stood together, arms around each other, laughing their heads off.

He kept it slipped in the inside of his pillow, along with other pictures he had obtained over the years, featuring all the team members he had ever had, and many of his mother, even one with his father in it, from a family picture taken when he was seven.

Darren Froan pushed away the thoughts of Spencer Reid, and led the way to the casino.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Agent Jenifer Jereau was seated at his desk, contemplating New Years and gazing at the very same picture Reid had been thinking of, and missing him dearly. The case they had just been on would've been perfect for him, in which a collections of murders had been accompanied with a cryptic riddle hinting at the location and means of the next killing. The team had spent many hours to decipher it, and knew that the others were thinking of their resident genius. Well, the others except Marcel, who had never laid eyes on the young man they considered a little brother.

_Stay safe. Just stay safe._ She wished silently.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

A girl raked her long nails down his chest, and gave him her best shot at a sultry gaze. The influence of the alcohol consumed him, and he brushed his lips against her neck, passing over her jawbone, making her shiver. She then decided he was being too much of a tease, and brought his head down and hungrily met her lips with his.

He reached his hands up and stroked and tangled his fingers in her hair, which was brittle from too many re-dyeing jobs. Then again, he couldn't say much with the green/black/gold color his was, with additions of purple lipstick.

Their hip swung in time with the pounding music, but at that moment it seemed that the world was revolving around them, holding its breath while it watched the kiss. She brought her hands to his waist, playing with the hem of his shirt before slipping her hands underneath it, considering pushing it over his head. He certainly wouldn't be the only shirtless guy (even some girls) on the dance floor and around it, and it wouldn't be the first time he had been ridden of his shirt.

Over the nameless girls head he caught a glimpse of Stephen, one of the quieter ones of his normal group, conversing quickly with one of the older, shadier men that seldom frequented the party areas, but when they did, violence soon followed.

Suddenly, both of the double doors crashed open, and several men rushed in, drawing wicked looking knives, but holding them unprofessionally with heavily tattooed arms. All at once, most of the rooms occupants rushed out, the girl he had been making out with tried to pull him along with her, but he shook off her arm. Looking at him like he had just he had announced that he was going to move to Romania and breed goats; she left, the door closing after her with terrible finality.

He supposed that his training had kicked in when he had opted to stay and witness what was obviously a gang stand off between the men who had just burst through the door, and Stephen and the shady guys he had been talking to earlier, as well as others he hadn't noticed at first.

He lurked in a shadowy corner, observing at the moment, listening carefully, which wasn't to hard, because the gangsters conversed in such loud voices that he was sure the party goes on the other side of the door could easily hear.

"Ya know how this works, hand over the place where you put our stuff!" One of the intruders insisted.

"Your stuff? It's ours." The other side snorted. "Finders keepers."

"You tell us and we'll consider not stabbing you up too badly, heck, we'll even throw in not burning down this whole joint."

"Please. You hardly even know what end of that kitchen utensil it the pointy one."

"Maybe you'll be more cooperative when we cut this wankers ears off" another retaliated, indicating with his blade at Stephen, who quickly went as pale as paper.

"Cooperative? Wow, I'm really impressed, that's such a big word to come out of such a small brain, your mother would be so proud." And at that last remark, the intruding gang burst forth, yelling for blood.

Reid saw a wild opportunity present itself, which might temporarily quarter-fill the gaping hole in his heart, and ran forward.

When he reached the jostling crowd, he noticed a group of four surrounding Stephen and promptly hit one in the back of the head with a high kick that Morgan had once helped him perfect. Moving on, he jabbed another in the temple, sending another one biting the dust. Quickly attention found him, and the gangsters then surrounded him, leaving Stephen unremembered to the side. Sure, he liked Stephen as a friend, but maybe not this much, but there was no going back now that he had angered the rival gang by knocking out two of their members in under ten seconds.

Working quickly, he dodged their knives while constantly turning around, fitting a kick or punch in every now and then, sending more backwards, but only to see two more spring in their place. Already he had obtained many deep scratches from close calls with the oppositions blades.

After sending two of them sprawling with a roundhouse kick, three others joined him in the struggle against the rival gang, and he recognised them from before as being one of the chief insulters. They instinctively went back-to-back and continued to retaliate.

Soon, with their help and the others from outside of the circle -who were all armed with knives- the intruding gang were either on the floor, or hastily making an exit, with only a shred of their pride intact.

Filled with battle euphoria, and still the after-affects of the alcohol he had consumed, Reid staggered forward, clasping the arm of a nearby gangster and nodding his thanks, which was returned.

"Aha! I'm not the only one who saw that, right? This guy," an outspoken and obviously drunk man hollered, gesturing towards Reid "is an absolute legend! He just ran in, took two of em down before they could say shit, and continued to beat em down when they had him surrounded with about twenty of em! I say we..." He faltered, staring at something over Reid's shoulder.

One of the beaten gangsters had recovered, though still slightly woozy, and was standing behind a confused Reid. He was filled to the brim with hatred for him, and before one of Reid's new friends could utter a warning, plunged down with the viscous knife.

**:D I was getting to the end of the chapter and was thinking about how to end it, when I thought, hey! Lets stab Reid! I hoped you liked this chapter, I'm pretty sure it's one of the longest I've ever written, if not the longest!**

**Review? Like please? With a bad boy Reid on top? **


	7. Aggressive gnomes and police officers

**Annnnnd I'm back! What's more, I have chapter 7 with me :D**

**Thank you sooo much to all that faved, followed and the REVIEWERS! I GOT SIX!YOUR AWESOME! So I did the crazy dance again, dodged the pillow, made sure my feet were well away from each other, caught the banister, pushed myself backwards, side stepped the couch, and stubbed my toe against the foot of my bed. It may not sound like much, but it hurts more than stepping on Lego. I'm serious. That bad. **

**Warning: mild swearing, bad boy Reid and everything that implies.**

**Disclaimer: anyone got a abseil wire? I'm thinking of stealing the rights of CM the Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol way :)**

Reid's shoulder felt like a bug furry monster had come along and taken a huge bit out of it.

Groggily, he opened his eyes to a interesting view of complete white. Further inspection revealed that it was a hospital ceiling, and as he moved his gaze lower, he couldn't help but hasp a little.

Just about all of the gang that Stephen belonged to was assembled in the surprisingly spacious room, as none of the other beds were occupied. The effect was a little ruined by the fact that about half of them were fast asleep; on the beds chairs, even a few passed out on their faces on the floor. But then someone noticed he was awake, and word passed quickly and all those conscious went along waking up the rest by any means necessary; a good flick over the ear, or a strong shove, but one was so deeply passed out that his friends had to resort to pouring the water from a nearby pot plant to wake him. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he angrily shook his head, ridding his long blonde hair from water, which flew across the room, catching most of them.

"Hey sleeping beauty!" One joked.

"How ya felling? Doc says that the knife missed all the important stuff, and the only thing that'll be left in a few weeks is gonna be an awesome scar" Another told him.

"That guy thought waaaaay too much of himself if he thought he could nail you like that and get away with it" A guy with frighteningly blue eyes boasted.

"Wha- what did you to to him?" Reid croaked.

"Sorted him out. In a cement mixer." Blue eyes answered, and Reid's mouth went dry. These guys were no girl guides.

"Oh yea, what was up with that guy that came in earlier?" Someone questioned.

At Reid's quizzical expression, Stephen elaborated, "When the nurses were hooking you up to the machines and stuff, this man came in and demanded that they didn't give you any painkillers, for some reason. Do you know him? Cause he flashed a bit of paper and they were all ready to wash his feet and stuff." Suddenly everything clicked, he had come, which meant by now the CIA probably knew, but he faked a groan, and tipped his head back.

"That would be... Step dad number..." He scrunched up his face, as if in deep thought. "5, I think. He found out about my sniffing anything I could lay my hands on, and confiscated whatever it was I was doing then. I always figured he took it to use it himself. As for that bit of paper... Probably one of his forgeries of fed document" he explained on his feet. "He's not still here, is he?"

"Nah, he went pretty quickly" the guy that had complimented him on the night he had been stabbed told him.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, "How long how've I been under?" He asked.

"Just two days, nothing compared to how long ol' Jakey spent in white sheets."

"Yea, how long was that? And week and a half? Two weeks?" And so then his company delved into a long tale of how "Ol' Jakey" had come around to arriving, covered in mud, losing blood quickly by long slashes made by a over sharp pizza cutter, shaving foam spurted down his pants, with a large selection of bruises, and his mates carrying him grudgingly, while Jakey blushed furiously to his friends amusement. The sequence of events was then dubbed "How Ol' Jakey insulted some pizza making gnomes bad enough that they attacked him."

As he listened to the hilarious story, Reid's heart thawed a little. Despite their chosen occupation, this friendly barter was carefree and light, and he saw a close-knit family, one that he wouldn't mind being adopted into.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

A firm knock captured the attention of the whole room. Reid, who had expertly unattached himself from the tubes and wires connecting to monitors -from all the time he had spent in hospitals- was lounging on the floor, exchanging stories with his newfound friends and making fun of celebrities with over-exaggerated impressions. Assuming it to be a nurse, he quickly sprung up and raced to the bed, and frantically reattached the wires, while Jarred unceremoniously shoved the finger clip back on.

The door was pushed open and two self-important men entered, taken aback by the amount of people in the room. Suddenly, the tension in the room heightened dramatically.

"What brings you to this little corner of the world, tweedle-dum and tweedle-even-more-dummer?" Caleb questioned.

"You laugh. You laugh. One day I'll have the immense pleasure of putting you behind bars for so long that if you get out, you'll be sixty." The one on the left seethed.

"Don't get yourself so excited, tweedle." Blake countered, with a pointed look somewhere quite far down from the face region.

Seeing that there was no way to win a verbal battle, the officer on the right spoke. "Alright, you've had your fun, now clear out before we take you all for the night for obstruction of justice." Grumbling, and taking their good time, they left, leaving Reid alone with the officers.

"Let's start this again, shall we? I'm Jack Wright, and this is Tom Barker. We're here in concern of your saftey." Wright announced, and Reid started, his mouth open in mock surprise and he wildly looked around.

"There- there isn't _bad men_ out to get me? I've always paid my taxes! Honest! I'm completely respectable!" Reid answered in a sarcastic tone.

Barker rolled his eyes and spoke up. "Your new, and you can get away from this with a minor charge if you help us, trust me, you don't want to mixed up with these sorts."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Come on, you talk like you've have a very reasonable education, you know what this is about. How did you get all those cuts and a stab wound in your shoulder?"

"Really funny story, that. You see me and my mates-" he jerked his head toward the door. "Were taking a pleasurable stroll on the side of a road out in the country -and, believe it or not- I slipped and fell down in a ditch filled with prickles and a broken bottle someone very inconsiderate had thrown there, and next thing I knew, I woke up here."

"I'm going to give you one last chance Froan-" Wright tried one last time.

"You know, I'm getting pretty tired. Need my rest and things, doctors orders." He countered, and with a huff, they left, stumbling into his waiting friends, who, for some reason, held an abnormal amount of cups.

**And that's the end :) hope you enjoyed it, and by the way, does anyone know what those finger calmly things are called? You know, the things that look like a washing line peg on your finger?**

**REVIEW! LIKE PLEASE! IF YOU DO, I'LL ADD ANOTHER REID SNOGGING SCENE! HONEST!**


	8. Bad manners

**Chapter 8 is here! Now I know that the finger clampy thing is a pulse oximeter- measures amount of oxygen in the blood, or in Wikipedia speak; a non-invasive method allowing the monitoring of the saturation of a patients hemoglobin. Thank you to those who told me :)**

**Thank you to all who faved, followed, and REVIEWED! YOU'RE AWESOME! I GOT SIX!? That's such a big achievement for me, seriously. Sooo, I did my signature crazy dance, but I kinda got bored of my last routine, and guess what? I didn't injure myself! I'm beating Reid!**

**Disclaimer: still waiting on the abseil cord, so no.**

Reid dodged the furious bartender -who was currently wielding a flamethrower, though Reid had no idea how he had obtained it- and pelted down the alleyway, clutching the fake crystal knob that wasn't fake. Usually he wouldn't have run from a fight, but he had about twenty grand in his hand and the guy had a freaking flame-thrower. But as soon as he could pass this on, probably to Freeks -a member of their gang who specialised in computer work and safe keeping, and if fact reminded him a little of Garcia. The thought made his heart burn.

A plan sprung into his fast moving mind, and it was a good, though slightly reckless one.

As he neared the entrance to the adjoining street, he spotted freaks and headed towards him, behind a dumpster, hoping the rival gang would notice him. Gently, he tossed the knob over it, and tore back through the alleyway, searching the nearby buildings for what he needed.

A few hundred metres from the maniac who was shooting flames at anyone who came near, -wether they were his friends or enemies- he found what he was looking for. Quickly, he climbed up the rickety ladder, and climbed to the roof.

Continuing his sprint towards the main fight, he jumped over the gaps between buildings, until he was only a building away. Which was good, except he was facing a metre and a half gap. Suddenly doubt struck him. He had never been an athlete, he couldn't do it. But then he remembered his friends, down there, facing the maniac who had his mind set on their death.

Steeling himself, he backed up a few paces, and shot forward like a bullet, leaping over the gaping pit, and landing, albeit with a stagger once he was on the other side. jogging the last few metres of the grimy rooftop, dodging a large skylight, -thought the glass was badly cracked- he looked down at the scene below. The bartender was swinging around madly, daring anyone to come near him. He was completely lost in the haze of battle fury, and was blocking the exit, which was the only one due to an overturned car, which hadn't been there when Reid had left.

He crouched down quietly, waiting for the bartender to come into range. When he did, he slowly eased himself out of the crouch, careful not to give himself away from creaking joints. Slightly nervous, he re-judged the distance between himself, and the bartender's back. If he aimed properly, then he probably wouldn't break his legs, but he didn't know about the back of the unassuming bartender. His plan still seemed slightly absurd, but there was no way that he was going to give up on it, not when some of his friends -who were staying clear from the flames, and slowly making their way towards the upturned car, though perilously- lives depended on it.

Once again, he took a few steps away from the edge, and ran lightly forwards, not too fast, because he needed to aim carefully, because if he missed, even if he didn't die on impact, he would be burned only seconds later. He launched himself forwards, directly centre to the bartenders back, and for a second, he was falling, revelling in the surprised looks he was attracting from all around.

Then he had landed, almost perfectly, on the maniac. With a sickening crunch, he kneeled over and banged his head against the cold asphalt. Reid checked his pulse, and breathed a small sigh of relief when he felt one. It was one thing to let loose, and do a bit of undercover work, but quite another to become once of the monsters he sought to catch.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Hotch sat quietly at his hardwood desk, in his comfortable chair, with its high back. He was finishing up the last of his paperwork, and had the radio blowing out soft tunes from the 90's. All was peaceful and calm. That is, until Joe Rost -head of his organised crime unit- burst into the room, as was his tradition.

Joe had been brought up in a country town, and though his skill was widely renowned, so was his blatant disregard of manners. He was known to eat sloppily, cut over people and burst in without knocking or any warning. He was unpredictable and thought on his feet. Hotch thought many politicians and chief's could take a page out of his book.

Giving a rare smile at the thought of Strauss speaking while eating with a dribble of ketchup from her lip. "Yes?" He asked, and Joe slid a file across the desk, without saying a word. He raised his eyebrow, not completely disliking this newfound silence, and opened the folder.

Inside were many pictures of various murders and reports of robberies and suspected robberies, though the owner's never reported anything missing, -probably because they were stolen in the first place, by the looks of this case- most prominent of these was a shot of a man questionably set in cement.

"This looks like your garden variety gang, though with some creative tendencies" he reported, gesturing towards a picture depicting of a victim bludgeoned to death with a garden gnome. "Your UNSUB's are definitely young, so wouldn't they be easy to catch?"

"That's what we thought when we first got the case, but these guys are untouchable. They leave no fingerprints, DNA, and mess wi the footage just enough that we can see them doing it, but can't I.D. them well enough to hold up in court." Joe answered, speaking for the first time. He was fed up with the case, and just wanted to get it over with.

"Is this your indirect way of asking for help?" Hotch teased. They had both been through the academy together, and had immediately taken to each other, and knew each other backwards and up-side down.

"Maybe."

"If I can get an invitation, I'll set my team straight on it." Hotch sighed, and Rost smiled, and handed over a slip of paper.

"And -you knew I was going to say yes, didn't you?" He asked.

"This is an intriguing case, I knew you would be interested." Joe smirked, and Hotch only rolled his eyes, and walked through the door, ignoring Rost's last comment.

Seeing Morgan, he passed the folder to him, and he flicked through the photo's slowly, while whistling lowly.

"Damn" he muttered when he saw the man set in concrete, and went to find his headphones for the flight to Las Vegas.

**:D And so everyone is coming together... Sorry I didn't have a Reid snogging scene, but I thought it would be really weird if he kissed the manic bartender wielding the flame-thrower. Just an inkling, you know. I'll see if I can incorporate it either next chapter or the one after that.**

**Don't forget to review!**


	9. To despise and to despise oneself

**Aaaaaaaaannnnnndd onto chapter... 9? Already? Yea, so I'm really sorry that this has come quite late, but I did a relay for life -you stay up all night and walk around a 500 metre track heaps, fundraising for cancer treatments. I think I did about 30k- and there was this candlelit vigil to remember the cancer victims. :( **

**Thank you sooooo much to all of you that followed, favourited and REVIEWED! You four are all really awesome and put such a huge smile to my face :D **

**Warning: Bad boy Reid and everything that implies. **

**Disclaimer: still not mine, but I've got a rough draft on how I'm going to steal the rights -on a completely unrelated note, does anyone have a blow-dart I could borrow? **

"Lets sort the killings that we know of that this group have done; either business or personal" Hotch suggested, drawing up the two headings up on a whiteboard. The majority of the business were well known crooks simply stabbed through the heart, and went to the right, while the others, -like the unfortunate man who had been killed in the cement mixer, and another bashed to death and left hanging from the top of an outdoor cinema screen- were hung up to the left.

Emily turned towards the local chief and asked, "Do you have camera footage of the gangs doings?"

"Well- yes and no. We do have the footage, but the gang has someone who knows their way around cameras and computers. The capturing of the picture was tampered enough that we can't get an ID that'll hold up in court from it, but so that we can still recognise them as the same gang, and see what they're doing." Bill Wrybler told them.

"Taunts to the police." Morgan noted. "We'll send the tapes to our technical analyst, and see if she can get anything from it, if that's fine with you?"

Wrybler made a go ahead gesture. "If you think she can, then I would delight in seeing the look on their faces when they get caught from their cockiness" he answered grimly.

"If we can see a copy, we'll see if we can connect them to these victims." Rossi said, and Wrybler showed him a large box of tapes.

"Good luck."

"JJ, help Rossi with that, Morgan and Prentiss, if you want to start on the Profile, Marcel, you're with me, we'll take a round of the crime scenes." Hotch ordered, pairing himself up with Marcel with him as always, because he was about the only person in the team he couldn't snark at. Still, being around Ryain was exhausting, and again wished they had any leads on Reid's case. The team hadn't said anything, but being here in Las Vegas reminded them strongly of their genius, this was, after all, where he had grown up. Morgan had mentioned visiting Diana on the jet, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from asking if she had heard from Reid at all, and realised that he would be pursuing Morgan afterwards, to find out what she had said.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Reid pushed the girl -who had said her name was Misty, but he doubted it- up against the hallway wall, and nibbled softy on her neck, making her groan and arch her back, muttering various words, from "shit" to "love". Her bleached Blonde hair tickled his cheek tantalisingly. Hungrily, she seized his head and forced his lips to meet hers, pressing herself close. The novelty of kissing had eventually worn off, as women constantly threw themselves at him.

Slowly, she ran her fake nails down his bare back, exploring the dips and rises of his firm muscles that he had worked hard for in vigorous morning trips to the gym. They weren't nearly as large as Morgans, but it was a huge change since he had left the team, about four months ago. He had shoved his shirt into the waistband of his jeans, not putting it past the many people in the club he had just left to steal it.

Slowly, as not to attract the attention of "Misty" he reached behind him and slid out a syringe out of the bottom of his jeans pocket. He backed a pace, forcing Misty to wrap her arms around his neck and stagger after him. Reaching around, he brought her into a close embrace, resting his head on her collarbone. Aiming the needle to her back, he pressed it in, earning a confused look from the girl, before she slumped heavily to the ground.

Quickly, he grabbed her arms and dragged her to a closet, and carefully laid her there, and rested her head against a nearby bucket. He backed his way out of the closet, making sure no one saw him.

Then, deciding he was too tired to return to his friends, he made his way back to his room

Pushing the door open, he slouched in, kicking the door shut behind him as he did so. He crossed the room and made straight for the bathroom, hoping that a long hot shower would wash ay the smell of Misty, and the dirt and sweat that coated his skin thinly from the clubs he had hit. But there were things a person couldn't scrub away. He would be always followed by the ghost of his recent actions, his jump from the building roof most prominent of them.

Sighing, he entered the blistering water, and grabbed a bar of soap, scrubbing himself repeatedly before sinking to the floor of the shower, letting the water run off his head. Tiredly, he rubbed his face, pushing his hair out from his face, which was screwed up in thought. He was in complete turmoil.

Spencer Reid wanted to break away from the gang, phone the authorities and settle down and quietly bide his time until the team caught his predator, which he was sure he would. Then he could return to his family, and never reveal what had happened to them. everything could go back to normal, and be that same awkward genius.

Darren Froan wanted to forget the rest of his life, and live the remainder of his days, be that a long or short time, with his newfound friends. He would live carefree, antagonising the police and getting the better of whoever challenged his gang. He would gain a considerable amount of wealth, and the only thing to remain from his past was knowledge of how to tip toe around the cops, aided by his abnormally high I.Q.

And somehow, he would have to come to a compromise.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"Hey, we got something" JJ called from the adjoining room where she and Rossi had been poring over the tapes. Hotch and the others immediately rose and picked their way around slips of paper, case files, computers, several coffee cups, white board markers, chairs and pins that littered the floor. Marcel and Hotch had found nothing at the crime scenes, the gang were too efficient, and covered the evidence well.

"We think the Bruce Marshalle is in this" Rossi said, indicating the shot of the guy found in the cement mixer, and pressed play.

The picture showed a busy nightclub, probably adjoined to one of the better hotels on the strip. The team realised what Wrybler had been talking about. You could discern the figures on the tape, but they were shadowy, their faces only barley discernible, and the entire picture was darkened, like a bad black and white movie. Quickly, everyone bar Marcel identified a textbook gathering of the gang, in a dark corner. Soon, a large group of people armed with knives burst through the door, sending everyone rushing through the exits, except for the gang members, and a partygoer who remained unnoticed by the intruding gangsters and the ones that had been there in the first place.

"Maybe if we can track him down we can get ID's of the gangsters?" Hotch suggested hopefully.

"No, I'm afraid not, just watch." Rossi replied.

After a few seconds of banter, the confronting gang leaped forward, attacking with their knives, but were met with just as fierce opposition. But they were out gunned, having not equipped themselves for a fight. Then, the figure they had seen darted from the shadows, and joined the throng

"Stupid." Morgan noted, and was about to say further, when the words were taken from his mouth in surprise.

The man had taken several of the intruding gangsters before they even registered his presence, using practised combined marshal arts skills, as he was completely without a weapon. Soon, though, the friends of those he had taken down surrounded him, but still he fought on, attaining a great many injuries, but continuing to drop the opposing gangsters. The original gang were now attacking from the outside of the circle, catching their enemies between the two forces. Though he man in the middle couldn't hold up forever, and was slowly tiring. Just in time, the gangsters from the outside broke through and helped him, and soon their opposition was on the ground, unconscious or dead.

They watched as the gangsters embraced the man, obviously commending him for his efforts. They found that they had acquired a respect for the guy, and felt slightly saddened when they witnessed a figure rise behind him, and stab him in the shoulder. The man crumpled to the ground, and his attacker was quickly brought down, and three of the gangsters broke off and dragged him from the club, while the man he had stabbed was carried off like one of their own.

"This guy" -JJ pointed at the attacker- "is probably Bruce Marshalle, who was found in the cement mixer. What's wrong?" The last part was directed at Morgan, who had become as pale as he could.

"That guy, who took down all of those gangsters with that blend of martial arts, well, that blend of fighting styles I recognise. I should know, I teach it. And honestly, I can't think of anyone except the bureau who use it." He stated.

**Phew! That was a pretty long chapter for me, next update will probably come in two days, and there is still heaps of the story to do!**

**Please Review! **


	10. Childish fun

***me* opens mouth to explain why the late update.**

***readers* clamp my mouth shut.**

** Thank you sooo much to everyone who faved, folled and reviewed :D you guys are awesome and your words bring such a big smile to my face :) thanks.**

**Woohoo! I've reached double digits! **

**Warning: Bad boy Reied and everything that implies. **

**Disclaimer: Nup, still not mine. **

Reid entered the room and slumped to the floor, leaning heavily on the bed, running the events of the day through his mind. It hadn't been so much a physical day, but once again his morals were struggling again. In less than eight hours, they were going to take down their biggest target yet. The Lasher Dogs would never see what was coming. The whole gang had set up an ambush, and he was only supposed to be here for a quick shower and equip himself with an extensive array of knives he had earned from his jump from the rooftop.

Frustrated, and unsure of what to do, Reid lashed out and inched the bed, causing the photos that were stored in his pillow come loose, and flutter to the ground. Sighing, he reached out and grasped them, about to shove them back into the linen. But then he caught a glimpse of the image.

It was taken in one of the many hospitals they had visited, though perhaps not one of the more cheerful ones, as it had been taken after Hotch had been attacked by the reaper. He was lying in the bed, trying to summon a smile, but he was already heavily weighed down by anxiety and guilt. The team were assembled around him, himself leaning on a crutch, his leg strapped tightly into a leg brace. They had just been through so much, but they blinded together and formed a close bond.

Roughly, he shoved the photo back into the pillowcase, and with a grumble hoisted himself up and meandered around the room, looking for what he needed to make the call. His new path was suddenly clear. He would tip off the police, but be cryptic enough that by the time the police figured it out, it all would already be going down, so when the police arrived, he would take off with his friends. And even if he did get nabbed, then whoever they had as a technical analyst would've probably have back-tracked through the voice distorter, and he would get a light charge, since he had dobbed them in, somewhat. Usually, the CIA would've been able to wriggle him out of it since he was in witness protection, but in his case, the CIA were keeping themselves as far away as they could, for some annoying reason.

Stooping down, he picked up the voice distorter -which he had acquired after a hostage situation of a Rottweiler, it was really funny how much such a short person could love a dog about the same size as him- and scooped up the phone. Quickly, he did a semi-difficult code, and then made another, different code that told the investigators where the actual code was, while consulting a street directory This was Vegas, they would name a street something so wild it would be perfect.

Once everything was in order, about half an hour later, he collected himself, and recorded the message on the distorter. This may have sounded simple when he had thinking about it in his head, but he had to record many replies to what the person on the other end might say, and he couldn't personally deliver a worded message, because they might get him, or post it because that would take too much time. He played them once, and satisfied that there was no easy recognition, he slowly dialled the hot-line that had been set up for organised crime.

The phone rang twice, and then, with a click, a woman answered. "Hello? This is the OCU line."

But it wasn't just any woman. This one was feisty, independent, and one of the people the respected most in the world.

Her name was Emily Prentiss.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"We've just gotten a tip-off." Prentiss reported, standing slightly from the desk she was occupying. Everyone rushed to her side, and she played it on the speaker. The callers voice ranged from extremely high and squeaky, to deep and gravely.

_"Hello? This is the OCU line." _

_"... I'm about to tell you the location of the location where shit is going to hit the fan, do you understand?" _

_"Why don't you just tell us?" _

_"That would spoil all the childish fun, wouldn't it?" _

_"You don't need to do this, just tell us where whatever it is is happening, and we'll make sure no one will get hurt."_

_"That's kinda the whole point. Eggs are supposed to be broken, Yadda Yadda."_

_"Fine, tell me the location of the location of the thing you are reporting." _

_"I just did." _

And then the line was cut off, leaving the surrounding agents puzzled.

"Do you think it was a taunt, or even a prank from some drunk?" Marcel suggested.

"No, even through the voice distorter he used, he sounded like he had thought through his words, also using the distorter points to this being pre-meditated." Rossi explained, mostly for Ryain's benefit.

"And you could hear those clicks before and after he spoke? He had recorded those, even more before-hand thinking." Morgan pointed out.

"So the message is in what he said." JJ confirmed.

"Let's send this to Garcia, she should be able to unravel the distorting, and then we can start profiling it, and send it around to see if anyone recognises it." Hotch ordered.

Little did he know, as soon as he heard it, he would instantly know whose voice it was, one that he had been yearning to hear for over five months.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Rocx Stredd was sitting in front of his Apple Mac, frowning at the screen. Usually he wouldn't trust a request from a stranger, but one of his better customers had introduced him, so it couldn't hurt.

What else that couldn't hurt was the half million price on his head.

The picture was obviously taken with a long range camera, and was of a gangly man in his late twenties exiting from a car.

He had brown brown hair, about and inch long in places, warm brown eyes and a handsome face. He was dressed like he was twice his age, decked out in a suit and tie. When all was added up, he looked too young and innocent to be hunted by a someone crazed enough to put so much money to his capture.

Money that the head of the Lasher Dogs wanted.

**Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnnnn! Now, I don't really know if you would get away with crime if you were under witness protection, but if you can't let's escape to my special little world were you can :) Now let's play a little game of guess the potential street names where the location of the little ambush is going down! Quite a long title, I know :p**

**Please Reveiw! I'm aiming to have more than five! But I'll still write... **


	11. Messing with Morgan

**Chapter 11! Yaaaayyyy! **

**Thank you to everyone who took the time to fav, follow and REVIEWED! I got SEVEN, which is the highest I've ever gotten for a chapter! You guys are amazing! Also, I got a guest review that asked if I was going to be a sequel... In French! I went all Internet translator on it, and I thought it was really cool. Just saying.**

**Disclaimer: the answer is still no. **

"Whoever it was that called just loves to torment my mind. It's like it's hanging around at the edge of my reach, and when I try to grab it, it flies away." Morgan groaned in exasperation, studying the recorded message for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, it reminds me of something, I just can't put my finger on it." JJ sympathised, and Marcel snorted.

"Right. You're just saying that to make it sound like you have a clue." He retorted, though with a backwards glance to the break room to make sure that Hotch was still busy with brewing a large cup of coffee, with more sugars than considered healthy, Reid style.

"Alright, then tell us, oh wise one, where it is?" Emily snappily replied, her words heavily laced with sarcasm, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, trust me, I don't have a clue, but at least I don't say that I do." He spluttered, and stalked away, his head held high, to the break room. Unfortunately for him, his head was held so high up, he didn't notice the chair, which he promptly fell over.

Hotch, who was just leaving the break room cradling his extra-sweet coffee, raised his eyebrows, and suppressed laughter. Ryain picked himself off the floor, tried to summon his pride, which was now non-existent, and continued his path, to scoff his face with animal biscuits.

Shaking his head, Hotch rejoined the others grouped around the table, glaring at the sheet of paper. Just as he was pulling up a chair, his phone rang. With a smile he saw the contact named "home" and stepped away, clicking answer.

"Hey, Jack" he answered, anticipating who would be calling.

"Daddy! I had the best day today-" and Jack continued on to explain all the details of his day. He had written a total of five sentences, at break he had won a race against all his friends, but had slipped on a patch of mud and was forced to wear some spare clothes. He had read a book, had a book read to him, and spent the rest of the day perfecting his artwork inspired by Three Blind Mice. After a while, he had to go, and said goodbye.

Grinning goofily, as only his son could make him, he returned, once again to the team. "Okay, I think this guy was really trying to indirectly tell us where he has the location of where the thing he was reporting." He paused, frowning. "This is starting to get a little confusing. Anyway, what do we have to go on?"

"The only unnecessary things he said was eggs need to be broken, and childish fun doesn't fit right because there's nothing childish about it." Rossi reported.

At the mention of childish fun, Hotch's thoughts automatically returned to Jack, and felt himself wishing he could spend more time with him. Play catch, race him, see how his Three Blind Mice picture went, take him out to the movies, even buy him new shoes, just humane things.

Suddenly, he leapt up with a gasp, berating himself for not seeing it sooner. He dialled Garcia and put her on speaker.

"Garcia, are there any street names in the area that can relate to Humty Dumpty?" He asked in a rush, before she could utter one of her signature greetings. The team all looked at him like he had just declared that he was becoming a clown in a traveling circus.

"Oooookkkkkaaaaaaaayyyyy, just a little random, but okay." She replied, and the clattering of keys could be heard through the speaker. Slowly, as the team thought it through, understanding dawned one their faces. Childish fun, which features a broken egg, could only be the nursery rhyme Humpty Dumpty.

"I got a Kings man street, Brick street and -this one is perfect. Humpty street, directions are being sent to you right now." She told them.

"Thanks Baby girl!" Morgan called as he was pulling on his jacket.

"Anything for my diverse little bunch of munchkins!" She replied, cutting off the call, and the team headed for the SUV's, with mixed feelings on being referred to munchkins.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

With a growl, Rocx swept some papers to the floor. He stormed about the room, and Tristan, his informer scuttled out of the way quickly. Slowly, his anger drained, and left behind ludicrously, and he let out a bout of maniacal laughter, throwing his head back.

"They, actually, think, that they- they can attack us?" He managed out between his raucous laughing. "I mean, they're like B grade! They're all young and green as grass; we are the oldest and most experienced, not some puppies playing tag! I didn't mind them playing nicely with the other nobody's, but now we can ensure there will be nothing left of the Soarosty Boys when we are done." He declared, and strode out the room to find Bochse, who was the best with dealing with hazardous chemicals.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

With a great screech of wheels, the BAU team arrived, and rushed out of the cars, each taking different sections of Humpty St, which wasn't altogether that large.

"If this isn't what he means, nothing is." JJ called, and the team ran over, minus Marcel, who could barely mange a walk/jog, this face bright red.

JJ was standing before a brick wall, maybe a metre and a half tall, with an egg broken on the pavement under it. Crouching down, Emily teased a sheet of paper from a crack in the mortar, and opened it, bringing it into the light of the sun and holding it out so everyone could read it at once.

On it was a hastily scribbled sheet music, and everyone groaned. It was another code, and this one looked harder than the last.

**Hey, so I know it's short, but the next chapter will be up in 48 hours, and I'll be adding a drawing of the coded sheet music up to my profile, so you can see if you can solve it, if you like :p**

**Also, right now I'm sitting at 46 reviews! Lets see if it can reach 50? **

**Like, Pretty Boy Reid Please?!**


	12. Soldier Boy

**Heeeeeeyyyyy! Chapter 12 is here! Sorry, but this is turning put to be a really long one, but it explains things. **

**Okay, first things first, SORRY! For three things:**

**1) Fanfiction hates me, so I couldn't upload the picture of the music sheet (which I spent two and a half hours writing) onto my profile, and you couldn't see it properly when it was my cover picture. Anyway, in this chapter you'll find out all about it.**

**2) I don't think I explained things thorough enough last chapter, but the reason Reid couldn't outright tell them is because then the police would catch both his friends and the Lasher Dogs, and in the next eight hours he would've been constantly surrounded by his friends, so he could hardly call the police while they were pulling up at the Lasher dog's place. He figured that by the time the cops figured it out, the fight would already be going, so when they were starting to get there, he could warn his gang and get out of there, so only the Lasher Dogs got caught. Sorry if you were confused.**

**3) Katie, I'm really sorry for breaking your pencil sharpener. It was an accident!**

**Thank you soooooooooooo much for faving, following and REVIEWED! I have gotten nine since my last chapter, which blew me literally out of my mind! If it wasn't for you guys, I would still be watching reruns, putting off my homework! I still put off my homework, but at least I'm writing, which can be connected to study, sort of :p**

**Disclaimer: I do n own o Criminal t Minds.**

Reid clambered into the unmarked van, sliding the door across forcefully so it made a large clamour, hurting the occupants of the vans ears. Still, he was sure he had only just pushed it hard enough for the faulty locking system to work. Seeing no available seats among the packed up gangsters resting on paint buckets, drop sheets and several other construction objects, so he plonked down right where he was plan was to drive up to the opposite house, a few pretending to be contract workers, and pretend that they were assigned a job there, while the rest of them sweated it out for about a hour. The Lasher Dogs would only see a couple of workers arguing about work with their neighbour, and having strange difficulties reaching their dispatch.

As they were pulling away from the curb, a thought was niggling away in the back of his mind, he wondered how the team was doing. By now they had probably solved the Humpty Dumpty, and would be puzzling over the second. It wouldn't take them long to crack it, he knew, and it would probably be Rossi to do so, he thought. A small smile was drawn to his face as he imagined their reactions to the note. Morgan would probably grin ruefully and slightly admire his nerve. Hotch would remain stotic as usual, but his eyes would burn like the fires of hell. Emily might spare a smirk, before jumping up to lead the way to the cars. JJ would stare at the words, and realise the person who wrote them was beginning to throw his life away. Rossi would cock an eyebrow, and follow Prentiss out. And chuckling a little, back in her little cave of wonders would be Garcia.

A sudden thought struck him. It had been about six months now, so they had probably already have replaced him. A small, scared part of him wondered if they would ever let him back, after all he had done already. He had, so far, managed to continue without killing anyone in the alias of a gangster with gangster motives, but his gut told him if he got too drawn into the fight, death would surround him. Wether it was his, his rivals, or his friends, he didn't have a clue.

And if his replacement was very good, that even lowered his chances for rejoining the team, if he ever did.

He was shaken, literally, from his thoughts when the van came to an unexpected halt, seeing as there were no windows.

_Show time_, he thought.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"Maybe we should try playing it?" Prentiss suggested weakly.

"I play piano, and just looking at it I can tell it doesn't have a tune." One of the local officers told them.

"Okay, so this means our guy knows how to write the notes, but he doesn't know how to write music. There is definitely a code in here, somewhere." Hotch confirmed.

"Let's take a step away from music, and look at it from the perspective of someone who has never played a note in there life." Rossi suggested.

"My turn, then." Morgan joked. He, once again looked over the sheet of paper. It infuriated him to think at such a flimsy thing could stand between him, and closing the case. He pushed away the papers on different notes and what they stand for. Then he thought about pushing away more than that. Standing up, he said, "If we need to take a step away from music, then I'll write this up, but without the anointing lines, just the dots and the bar lines.

"Worth a try." JJ commented.

And so Morgan set himself to work, methodically jotting down the placement of the dots. Once he as finished, he photocopied it, and handed one copy to his team with the original, and took one copy for himself and a clean sheet of note paper. To make it easier to see, he wrote down the order of the notes and at what height, numbered from 1 to 5, making sure to keep the bars and double bars in, he was sure they were important.

"I got it!" JJ exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, and a tint of pink began to creep onto her cheeks. "You take a section between the bars, and add their height together. Each section represents a letter, and the number is the letter of the alphabet, in a order, of some sort." She explained, and Emily teared a sheet of paper from Morgan, and first wrote the normal order of the alphabet, and then began translating the numbers in JJ's theory. But soon it became clear that she was translating it into gibberish.

"Okay, how do we go from here? Try a different order, or use another code to decode the mangle of letters there?" Marcel half-heartedly questioned.

"No, that would make it too hard." Hotch muttered. At their questioning looks, he elaborated. "Whatever is happening, this guy didn't have a chance to call us before it all started, and didn't want us waiting for them there, for his own motives. If we couldn't solve it before this set amount of time, then his plan would fail."

"So were being played by a gangster." JJ groaned.

"Oh damn." Rossi exclaimed, and ripped off another clear sheet of paper, and brought the original towards him. He began furiously scribbling down sets of dashes and dots, ignoring the dots from the joint notes, and recording the lines between them instead. Everyone realised what he was doing, Morse code was very distinct. As soon as he was finished, he began again further down the page. With awe, the team watched as the message formed.

_Ppl r goin 2 gt kild. Thngs wl b stln. Bsicly a gng trf war. If I wer u, I wld gt my ass ovr ther. _

_316 Milchester st._

Emily spared a smirk before jumping up, JJ looked on sadly at the words, Hotch only let his burning emotions show through his eyes, Rossi cocked an eyebrow, and followed Prentiss out, Morgan grinned ruefully at the page, with just a dash of admiration. He gave it to an injured officer, with orders to send it as soon as possible to Quantico, so Garcia could see what she thought of it.

"Wheels up, like now." Hotch called from the doorway, and finally they were on the chase.

**And that's the end :) Reid used text language because to write it out in full would take too long and too much space. Sorry it's shortish.**

**Big fight in the next chapter, so REVIEW! **


	13. Traitor

**Chapter 12 is HERE! Woohoo! This is going to be a confrontation chapter! Hehehehhhe!**

**Thank you too everyone who faved, followed, and REVIEWED! You guys are so amazing! Heck, thanks to anyone who has ever read this :p **

**Warning: Bad Ass Reid and everything that implies :)**

**Disclaimer: Pfft. I wish.**

The sliding door was slowly pulled open, and every creak and squeal sounded like an air horn. Puffing slightly, Freeks slid the door the rest of the way.

"Get out slowly, and stay behind the van until everyone's out. We're still waiting on Caleb's team." He whispered, while pretending to search around in the cab for something. They all clambered out, easing their stiff muscles, and he handed them the radio, before entering the house again.

In anticipation, they waited silently, the tension in the air so thick that they could've drowned in it. Finally, the soft crackle of static was replaced by Caleb's voice. "We're all ready, now. Jarred had to use the bathroom, that's why we're late." He explained.

"I wouldn't call the prickle bush you shoved me into a bathroom." Jarred countered, though his voice sounded stale, and forced. They were on the opposite side of the Lasher Dog's compound, and were going to start attacking -from the dense bush of an over grown plot, and over a rundown fence- and so when the gangsters were occupied with them, Reid's team would come up behind them and catch the opposing gang in a pincer. It was a simple plan, but the best ones usually were. Especially when you dealing with high school drop outs.

"Yea? That's interesting." Reid replied in a friendly sarcastic voice. "How about attacking these douce bags?"

"We're going now, remember the signal." Caleb replied, before cutting off. Reid couldn't help but roll his eyes a little. Even if he had forgotten what the signal was, it would be pretty obvious when it came.

Sure enough, about thirty seconds later, there was a loud blast, and the ground shook. Assorted greenery was flown into the air, and screams could be heard. Reid frowned, and hoped that his friends were okay. Gregan sprung up, and lead their group of twenty two toward the compound. As they grew closer, the screams and groans grew louder, and Gregan silently climbed over the gate, using his prior experience as an acrobat in a circus to vault himself over the charged barbed wire. After he had landed, he went over and searched for the key, and found it easily in a niche cut into one of the posts. He quickly swung open the gate, and they poured in like oil.

That's when everything went drastically wrong.

Gangsters rushed from the buildings, and caught them unawares. Hastily, Reid's group drew their weapons, and the two gangs clashed. It soon became clear that they were facing most of the gang, with odds of about three to one. They slashed and ducked as best as they could, and injured many on the other side, but they were getting injured too. Reid partied a strike, and stepped behind the gangster, before grasping his arms roughly and throwing the man into his comrades. With shocked expressions, they all fell down. Unfortunately, this made him a target, and he found himself being brought down again and again, but he managed do dodge the stabs well enough that it didn't hit anything important, and regained his feet for every time he was brought down.

He knew it was a losing battle, and so did his friends. But if they went down, they would be stuffed if they went down quietly. In some detached part of his mind, Reid realised that the far off screams he had heard before had diminished, and knew it was a ruse. They had been caught in an ambush, which only meant one thing.

One of them had sold the rest out, and gone traitor.

The thought brought a new vigour to him, and he retaliated with fresh strength. Still, his past stopped him from killing in the name of a gangster, so those who fell before him only suffered from unconsciousness. Gradually, though, his strength was failing him, and there was just too many, too many to deal with. His vision was getting spotty, and everything was getting darker, as if someone had turned down the sun. He was eventually taken down by a forceful blow to his head, and he hit the down hard.

Groaning, Reid dragged himself upright once again, and levelled his knife at his attackers. Through his swaying, failing gaze he saw a brief flicker of surprise and respect in their eyes, but that didn't stop them from knocking him over once more, and dragging him by the ankles further into the compound.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"So... What's the plan?" Marcel asked nervously as Morgan preformed a hairpin turn down a side street, and Hotch laughed.

"You think there's a plan?" He asked, a little incredulously. "We get there, we storm the place. We catch the bad guys. Simple. You got it?" He asked, comfortable in his territory, and Ryain was silent for the rest of the ride.

As they pulled up, the cars had barley stopped before the doors were opened and everyone burst out, their guns held high. Morgan, -who had been freed finally of his crutches- lead the way, and was about to kick the gate open, only to find it was already unlocked. Uneasily, he carried on, and found the place completely deserted.

Uneasily, they carried on, and heard the sounds of shouting, and dull thuds that could be easily distinguished as blows. As they neared the source of commotion, Derek caught a glimpse of the scene.

There was the gang they had been chasing, tied together with nylon rope, many nursing unattended wounds. Their captors stood around them, watching like hawks with their knives at the ready.

Morgan made hand gestures for the six of them to circle around the area. They crept closer, and watched the unfolding events closely.

"Now, who would like the pleasure of killing the next one?" A man asked, obviously the head of the group. "Ah... You." He pointed at a random gangster in the crowd, who came forward, a wooden mallet resting in his hand. "And... This unfortunate guy. His hair annoys me." He declared, gesturing towards a gangster with shocking spiked-up green and black hair, with the tips done gold. He had green eyes, and with the look of someone who had once been rather lanky, but had put on a considerable amount of muscle. There was something unnervingly similar about him.

He was cut loose from the rope, and was dragged roughly forward by his rivals, before the man with the mallet. He looked like he had already taken a fierce beating, and couldn't take much more. Morgan nervously looked to the other side of the area for Ryain, but he hadn't reached there yet, and protocol prevented him from going without him. But a yearning ache was growing in his chest, and for some reason he wanted nothing more than to rush forward and save the man with the blackish green hair, a protective part of him.

The mallet was swung, and hard, crashing into the ribs of the man with blackish green hair, who groaned and slumped to the ground, only to be wrenched upright by the same people who had dragged him over.

The mallet was swung again, this time at the mans shoulder, and Morgan couldn't help but wince. Once again, his face crumpled in pain, but he managed to keep himself from crashing to the ground. "Smart move." Morgan muttered to himself, because if he had fallen, then he would have been hoisted up again, by the arms, which would've antagonised his shoulder.

As the mallet bearing man went to smash the mallet into the poor mans body again, he was stopped by the guy who Morgan had picked out as the head of the show.

"Stop! There is a reward on this little scumbag's capture. Alive." He told them, stressing on the last word, which the blackish green haired man didn't seem so close to.

Finally, Morgan spotted Marcel on the other side, and burst forward, to save the man he felt a strange protectiveness to.

**Okay, sorry for the cliffy, I had planned that it would be longer, but I was running out of time, and the chapter was getting about the right length. Forgive me? **

**Please Review! Right now I'm sitting on 60, can we make it to 66? Repeated digits?**


	14. Dragged into the dark

**Chapter 14 is here! Yaaaaay! Now, I think some people might be expecting the story to finish in the next two chapters or something, but I still have plot bunnies chasing me, so expect more :p**

**Thank you sooooo much to everyone who has followed, faved, andREVIEWED! You guys are so amazing, and I got seven, which is way up there!**

**Warning: Bad ass Reid and everything that implies.**

**Disclaimer: Damn! I had everything sorted out to steal the rights, but I was snitched on by the snowgurt man, so I'm writing this from juvenile detention :(**

Reid was completely consumed in burning agony, and was sure he had more than three broken ribs, and a shattered shoulder, the same one that was semi-recovered from his stab wound. Blood was steadily seeping through his shirt, which he knew wasn't a good sign. And he was still conscious.

All he could do was pray that he wouldn't start coughing up blood, which meant he had a punctured lung. If that happened, then he would have to be taken to hospital immediately, but that wasn't looking too probable, considering the circumstances.

Then again, he should probably be praying that he could get out of this alive.

Dimly, through the pain haze he registered that the brutal beating had stopped, and someone was speaking, but he only caught the words reward, capture, and alive. Dread filled him when he realised he was the topic, rewards big enough to make the head gangster smile goofily for his live capture.

Suddenly, several people burst into the area, none other than his team, accompanied by another man who wouldn't fit in with the SWAT team. Somewhere deep inside him he knew it was his replacement, and the great ache in his heart grew.

"Drop your weapons!" Morgan shouted, and Reid felt secure. They would take control, and they would all be together again, before he would have to go again, but it would be an escape from this tumultuous life. Slowly, he crumpled to the ground, and the team and the local police officers started going around handcuffing gangsters.

Rossi went up to cuff the head gangster, who reached into his jacket and pulled a gun. The air was stretched tight, and everyone stared at him. It was an unspoken rule that in affairs of gangs, no fire arms were allowed. Reid wasn't quite sure why, but it had always been there, before the memories of all the gangsters he knew.

Aiming swiftly, he took a shot at Rossi, and then the world was ripped apart.

A gangster had leaped up and shot at a container, which blew apart, obviously containing some flammable liquid. Another had flipped a switch, and the entire wall of one of the surrounding buildings was brought down.

Through the chaos of dust and shrapnel, Reid spotted Rossi, who was still crumpled on the ground, and he started to frantically crawl towards him, crying out his name.

When he was two feet away, he was lurched back by the arms, aggravating his shoulder so much that he was starting to pass out. As the darkness was creeping in the edge of his vision, he was dragged brutally backwards, and became aware he was screaming throatily at the top of his lungs; loud, unintelligible yelling, for his friends to save him, for his old life he missed so dearly.

They continued to drag him, for a distance, and the sounds of the uproar began to fade. Wether it was from his failing consciousness, or the amount of distance, he didn't have enough time to ponder it before he was hauled into the back of a van, and he fell into the dark when the doors were slammed shut, opened again with a curse, and slammed even harder.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"I tell you all I know- as long as you try your fucking hardest to get Darren back." Stephen declared, eyeballing a very drained Hotch. "And a few years knocked off everyone's sentence." He finished ruefully.

Rossi had been shot, and JJ, and Emily were waiting for word from the doctors, and Morgan, Marcel and himself were still interviewing those they had caught in the raid. And all that the Soarosty Boys would say that they would tell them what they knew when they were showed proof that they were following up the capture of their friend, Darren Froan. He couldn't help but be impressed by their loyalty, they were a close knit bunch of hooligans, but according to an angry comment, one of them had gone traitor. They wouldn't say who, not of course until they were looking for Froan.

"What proof do you want? We don't have enough information, which we probably will when you tell us about the whole scheme." He replied, looking deep into Stephen's eyes.

"Do you have any leads?" He asked hopefully.

"We have out tech analyst working on traffic cameras, to see if we can spot the van they left in, which was spotted by the lady from across the street. She's also breaking into Stredd's computer."

Stephen nodded. "That's good enough for me. I don't know the while story, but Caleb Brande is the traitor, when he was leading a group around the back, he let his buddies in Lasher dogs know where. They ambushed the team, and radioed back to the other group, -which Darren was part of- even made Jarred make a little joke. Then they triggered the signal, and started taking us out one by one and killing us, so it sounded a little like a fight. When the other group came in, they fought for ages, but eventually they were overpowered, and they started the one by one thing again. Darren was called forward, they beat him up pretty badly, -even on his shoulder which was stabbed- but Rocx said there was a price on his capture. You guys went in, and his inner circle, -which Caleb's part of- set off all the explosions and stuff, and dragged Darren away. For some reason he was crawling towards your teammate. Probably thought it was one of us, he couldn't have been too lucid when he was in that much pain. I still remember the screaming." He told him, his eyes heavy with grief and guilt. "We lost seven us, and that's the ones that died straight away, and that I know of. We're there any more?" He queried.

"Just two- Rach Windle, and Jake Shard." Hotch replied, stone faced, while Stephen groaned.

"Not Ol'Jakey! He was awesome, spat in the head honcho's face and everything. I'll always remember him." He said, his face downcast.

"This will help us a lot, can you come with me to ID everyone?" Hotch asked, and Stephen nodded.

He lead the way downtime passageway, and stepped into the back room for the interview that Morgan was leading. Nodding to Marcel, who was only allowed to observe, he moved aside to make room in the small cramped dark space.

As soon as he saw the man being interrogated, Stephen launched himself at the one way window, snarling. Hotch had anticipated something like this, but nothing that extreme. He had taken all the Soarosty Boys, and Morgan was handling the Lasher Dogs. Soon it became clear to Stephen that he couldn't smash his way through the toughened glass, and he turned to Hotch.

"Let me in there, turn the cameras off, and I promise in ten minutes you will have the information you need." He pleaded, staring down Hotch, who, to be honest was a little tempted. He was tired, and all they got from the Lasher Dogs was stony silence, as most of them hadn't bothered to employ lawyers.

"I can't do that, just tell me what he did and if you can ID him."

"I don't know his name, but this was the guy who got picked at least three times -not by chance- and he killed every time. He would take a jagged knife and start cutting things off until his victim stopped breathing." Stephen answered. "I'm also sure he was part of the inner circle."

**Okay, I know, filler chapter, but I kinda needed to explain things, a little. Next chapter will be up in 48 hours, as normal.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! I'll even resort to begging... **


	15. Salty air

**Chapter 15, woooohhooo! I'm sooo sorry it's late, but I was attacked by the writers block bunny monsters :( *shakes fist***

**Thanks to everyone who faved, followed and REVIEWED! You guys are so amazing :)**

**Disclaimer: NO.**

"Anyone else have a headache worthy of Vieszcy?" Prentiss asked, earning raised eyebrows.

"Well, yes, I do have a headache, but I have no idea what you meant from the last part." JJ replied, suppressing a giggle.

"Oh, you know. A Russian daemon." Prentiss explained, bashful.

"Slow down, that's Reid's job to say those things." JJ automatically quipped, but later wished she hadn't. Joking about the young genius lead to thinking about him, which lead to more worry, concern and pain on top of concerning about Rossi, even a little concern and pity to the Soarosty boys, who had been betrayed, captured, all of them beaten and a number of them killed, then when they were finally rescued, nine of their enemies got away, kidnapping one of their close friends as they did so. All of that added onto the normal base concern for her son, Henry, who was growing up without her. She was concerned about so many people she felt that she should be concerned for herself, because she was feeling so much she wouldn't be surprised if she exploded.

Emily spotted the sad look, and quickly steered the conversation away from their friend. "I would probably be more surprised if we didn't have headaches. The sound of the wall crashing down, the explosions and-" she paused.

"The screams." JJ finished for her, remembering, with a shudder, those wordless screams that spoke more than a long conservation. They were the screams of pain, loss, hate, rebellion, fury, loathing and defiance. They had been wild, empty, throaty, and everything in between.

Emily nodded, and was about to reply, but stopped when she spotted a doctor hurrying towards them. It had only been a few hours since Rossi had gone into the operation, and she hoped it hadn't been too late. The doctor had kind eyes, crinkled around at the edges. The face of a happy man. She pushed away the thought that they would send the kindest they had to bring bad news.

"He'll be fine. He's quite the kicker, and wouldn't have gone down without a fight. He will have trouble with operating his right arm, but that can be rectified with phsio. We suspect that he will have temporary short term memory according to shock, and his age, but that will come back slowly." He told them, to their obvious relief. "He's asleep, but you can see him, if you like." He continued, gesturing down the passage, which the two women hurried down, murmuring thanks.

When they entered the airy room, they were greeted by the sight of a frail looking Rossi, covered in wires and tubes. But at least he was alive, and that's all they needed.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Reid woke up to the pain of his injuries being bumped as the van went over pothole. Panic started to seep up his throat like oil. He was alone, in a cramped, dark space, with no one knowing where he was, no one to come and rescue him. Not even anyone on the opposite end of a camera.

Slowly he eased out his limbs, stretching the cramped muscles, and trying to get a feel of the dank, bad smelling place. Relief flowed through him, the interior was large and at the top left corner there was a broken seam which pale moonlight and a light breeze seeped through. On it the scent of the sea was carried.

With nothing else to do, he slowly explored the small space,searching with his fingers as much as he was with his eyes. There were no seats, and the sliding door was chained shut, so although he wasn't tied up, he had no chance of escape. The contents of the space were paint buckets, drop sheets, and various other building supplies. After searching the small area for the third time, he gave it a rest and slumped to the floor.

After a few hours had passed by, they turned and rumbled along a horribly pitted road, which made his ribs and shoulder throb more than anything. He guessed that the van was now going down a driveway, and desperation set in, and he sprang up, and lashed out at the wall, kicking it as hard as he could in his state.

It barley made a dent.

The driver swerved wildly, knocking him to the floor where he landed painfully on his shoulder. About a minute passed, and the van rolled to a stop.

He heard the sound of the drivers door opening and a person clambering out. He walked away to a point just inside his hearing, and began conversing quietly with a person Reid hadn't realised was there. Gradually the voices grew louder in argument. One was shouting loudly about payment, one of five hundred thousand dollars.

This shouting match went on for some time, and was abruptly ended by a wild yowl of pain, and someone approached the van, leaving the other still screaming behind them.

The door swung open and Reid was met with a harsh face that looked like it spent most of it's time frowning. Ringed around it was scraggly white blonde hair. He was quite tall, and medium built. Somehow Reid knew he wasn't the driver, whose screams were slowly ebbing away.

This was the man who had offered to pay half a million dollars for his capture.

"You put up quite a chase, so I think I'm going to have to do something special with you." He told him, his face creaking into an evil smile, like he should be incredibly honoured.

**Okay, so it is really short, but I just have no energy right now, so I'm putting it up as it is. Next update should hopefully be up per normal. :p**

**REVIEW! Pllllllleeeeeeeaaaaaaaasssss sssssseeeeeeeeeee!**


	16. Drop everything!

**Phew! Chapter 16! Here we go.**

**I'm sooooooooooooo very sorry that its late, but we had a dress up as a character day (I went as Thalia Grace) and I kinda went all out, and I didn't have time to write this. :( oh yea, Happy Easter holidays, everyone!**

**Thank you soooooooooo much to everyone who has faved, followed, and REVIEWED! You guys are so amazing, nice and supportive :) you make me do a crazy, uncontrollable dance every time ;)**

**Warning: It gets a little graphic on his injuries, so 13+ please.**

**Disclaimer: Still. not. mine.**

Reid had been thrown into a small room, entirely made from rough concrete with a bunker like door, and the door slammed, and he was left alone. His chest ached, so he laid himself flat on the floor, knowing it would relive the pain slightly.

The space was lit by a bare bulb which gave a harsh white light that left marks on the inside of his eyelids when he closed them. Pushed to the back left corner of the room there was a untreated wooden pallet, still marked with Sunny Dee's apple orchard. On it rested five tea towels, presumably for a blanket. On the opposite side, which was only a few paces from the pallet, was an empty bucket. Dreading the time he would have to use the toilet, he decided to use the light to his advantage, and took stock of his injuries.

There wasn't much spare skin that wasn't shredded and scraped, from his two trips from being harshly dragged over the concrete. They were covered in dried blood, which cracked as he moved, and more of his blood oozed out. He was sure that if they weren't infected now, then they would be soon, judging by the amount of suspicious grime covering the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. Those small patches that weren't ripped off were blotched with purple, black, red and green, and hurt to touch. He deeply regretted his rash kick at the sides of the van, knowing it would worsen his condition. Looking back at his struggle, he was greatly surprised that he hadn't keeled over at the pain it took to stand, let alone lash out at a wall of metal. He supposed that he had been in a state of shock, his brain aloof by the amount of agony he should of been feeling. His primal instincts had kicked in, and so he had done his best to push his wounded body to escape.

Gingerly, with his good arm, he lifted up his shirt, and almost dropped it again when he saw the state of his ribs. From his medical knowledge, he knew that he was still in a half-shock state, because by the state of his chest it should of hurt much more, and he dreaded the time when the real torment set in. His chest was a mangled mess of black and blue, and you could see clearly where the mallet had struck, because that was where his chest caved in a little, and surrounding the area the other ends of his ribs had stuck up, though none had yet broken yet through his skin. Luckily, the blow had been more to the side, so his broken ribs had just bruised his lungs, instead of puncturing them, as far as he knew, because so far, he hadn't coughed up blood. Not wanting to survey his mangled chest any longer, he dropped his shirt down again and flopped his arms to the cold floor, to take a little rest and gather his resolve before inspecting his shoulder.

It worried him a little that this small amount of exercise had taken so much energy, and he lost himself in his thoughts. He had seen them. _He had seen them! _They had been so close to meeting, and then he had been taken, maybe by the reason he had gone away. He wondered how he had found him through the Lasher Dogs. By his luck, it was probably very bad circumstances. Even though he was stuck in this horrible position, he couldn't blame the person who had sent him here, because they had tried so hard, and he knew he would've been found earlier if the CIA had organised his new identity, because of their own suspicions. Even if it had been his fault, Reid was sure that deep down, he could never blame or hate that person, who held a restricted section of his heart.

He wondered, that if he had ever got out of this dingy hole, would his team want him back? They had replaced him fast enough, and if he had been bad, they would have already kicked him out, which meant that he was good at the job. Better than him?

Wishing to shake himself from those depressing thoughts, he reached up and slid his shirt down off his shoulder, wincing as he did so, the shock was wearing off, and soon the true torture would begin. His shoulder wasn't as bad as his chest, but it was still shocking. The scabbing over his knife wound had split open, and was still seeping blood. Around it, amongst the horrific bruising, irregular shaped bumps threatened to break through the skin, and some of the sharper edges had burst through.

"Shattered shoulder." He muttered to himself. He hoped he wouldn't be in captivity too long, his shoulder might start to heal in its broken state, which would be extremely excruciating. Even if he made it out of this alive, and to a hospital, it would have to be broken again, followed by a long surgery in which the doctors would have to piece together all the little shards like a jigsaw puzzle. Then it would be set in a cast for a long time, and the shoulder cast comes around under the armpit, and you couldn't wash your cast, so he would end up getting pretty smelly. Which would lead to a lack of any love life for a few months, but he should be used to it, he had gone many years too shy to even talk to a girl.

Silently he laughed to himself, making sure not to shake his shoulder too much. Here he was, in captivity, that if this UNSUB carried on as he had, then he would be facing his imminent death. And here he was worrying about how his smelliness would repel girls!

He wallowed in his thoughts for a few hours, not daring to move from his place on the floor to which he had slumped when he first entered the room. Suddenly, the bunker like door crashed open, and the man with the deathly blonde hair entered.

"I think it's time for your phone call." He said, smirking evilly.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)=================

"We've gotten another body, Procsen Harn, it's one of Rocx's inner circle." JJ announced, leaning into the room, her phone still in her hand.

"Should we go to the crime scene?" Morgan inquired, and Hotch was about to reply, but was cut off by JJ.

"No. The body was dumped over state lines on the side of a country road, and was found about six hours ago. The local department ID'd the body and it came up on the Memo we sent them when we ID'd the inner circle. Their detectives found that it was a simple drop off, the Harn had been in the back, and simply rolled out the door. No prints on the body, no evidence, not even tyre tracks to narrow things down." She reported.

"Nothing to go on, whatsoever." The local chief summed up.

"Are we looking for any specialties?" Marcel asked, but notch was already shaking his head.

"No, many gangsters know the way to leave a body with no evidence, and since it was moved, we don't have a crime scene." Hotch told him, speaking a little slowly than needed.

"I'd say that this guy is just the transport. When Harn was handing over Darren, there was some sort of disagreement and Harn was killed. Now Rocx Stredd hasn't gotten what he wants, he will have his head deep in the dirt, but he cant help but try to contact our UNSUB to see what happened to his promised money." Morgan thought out loud, recieving nods from around the room.

"Ok, but if we can't find out who wanted Darren, what would they want him?" Emily paused. "When are we getting those close up pictures of him by the way? And- does anyone else feel like we know him, and hat we should protect him?" The last part she spoke so quietly, that only JJ, who was beside her, heard.

"I see Reid everywhere, too. But you never know, he grew up he, so he probably still has cousins or something in the area. No one in the CIA would be mad enough to send him here, in the role of a gangster." Emily said, comforting JJ.

"The personnel files crashed, they'll only be up in a few hours. Garcia has gone down to the archives, but that isn't updated like her computers. And all that paper? She is going crazy." Morgan told them, grinning, and earning a few smiles around the room.

The phone rang, and Emily answered it and grinned. "Speak of the devil." She muttered, and put Garcia onto speaker.

"Heeey baby girl! How's the paper? No more panic attacks?" Morgan teased, and Hotch's phone rang, and he stepped back to answer it.

"My beautiful system is back up and running, thank you. He answered. "I'm pulling up those faces now and... Sent to your printer." She finished.

Emily, smiling at her friends bright cheerfulness, turned around, to watch the slips of paper slide from the printer. What she saw was a pale faced Hotch, speaking urgently on his personal cellphone. As she watched, he became even whiter, if that was possible, and hang up the phone and approach the assembled agents quickly.

"What's-" she started, but was cut off abruptly.

"Drop everything. Forget about Rocx Stredd and Darren Froan and the rest of it. Now. Meet me at the jet in twenty minutes." He ordered curtly, turning to stride away.

"What? Hotch, we can't just abandon a case!" JJ exclaimed.

"For this, we can. But you're right, JJ. Marcel, you stay behind and do what you can for the case." He paused, still seeing confused looks. "It's about Reid." He explained, and immediately the team, minus Marcel sprung up and followed Hotch out the room, just as the face of the very same person rolled out of the printer.

**...Cliffy :) Sorry! Next chapter will be in 48 hours, and I know I've said that before, and not delivered, but if I don't I ****will give you full rights to throw all your best insults at me :) I ink this one is slightly longer than the others, so can you accept it as my peace offering?**

**Please review! It's my energy :p**


	17. You will

**Chapter 17? Already? Wow, this story is getting like, really long, by my standards :) And look! It's on time, too! I dodged a verbal beating!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who followed, faved, and reviewed! You guys make me smile so much!**

**Disclaimer: I wonder why I have to keep on doing this, after I've done it for the previous 16 chapters? Do you really think I've suddenly gotten the rights as a Easter present? Nah, I'll just stick to chocolate...**

_"Hello?"_

"Hotch, it's me." He read out loud from the sheet of paper, hating every word. A knife made light circles over his marred skin, only scratching, lifting up portions of scabbed skin here and there and reopen ink the bleeding. All the time the monster who held him captive eyes bored into him, threatening to do much more.

_"Reid? What's wrong?"_

"I've been taken captive. I'm hurt. The person who captured me is the UNSUB that forced me into another life. It's all very fishy, isn't-" The man white the shockingly white hair pushed him, and the phone fell to the floor. He kicked him harshly in the ribs, and Reid doubled over, gasping for breath, groaning in agony. Pain signals bursting in his head, and the world swarmed into blackness. When his vision cleared, bright green eyes were inches away from his. "You will pay harshly for that." He promised, stamping down at Reid's weak shoulder, bringing forth a tortured scream from his victim.

_"Return my agent immediately, and I swear to god I will kill you quickly."_ Hotch's voice rang through the speaker, enraged.

"Tut tut, that is a bit rash, isn't it? I have your agent right here, and you're begging me to kill him."

_"If you so much as lay a finger on him-"_

"Oh, don't worry so much! He will die, in three days exactly, but it won't be by my hand."

_"So, you would rather hire a mercenary to do your bloody work than do it yourself?" _Hotch retorted, but the green eyed man took a sliver of skin away from Reid's semi-conscious body, and an involuntary moan escaped his lips.

Reminding himself to post the sliver of flesh to the agent later, the UNSUB spoke again. "I am insulted. The consequence of your actions will be delivered to you. As I was saying, he will die, but I won't kill him." He paused, for dramatic affect.

"You will."

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Hotch slammed the brakes harshly, and the doors were already open, and everyone clambered out. Since their number had been reduced to only four, they had taken only one SUV. in a close packed group, they quickly approached the doors. Once they were inside the building, they were immediately stopped by a security guard.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you go any further without a cleared security pass." He told them firmly, hardly wavering at the steely glare he got from Hotch.

"And I'm sorry, because you don't understand the situation properly." JJ replied, using her skills to try to talk her way further into the building, but the guard just shook his head.

"I don't care how drastic the situation is, I need a pass or a wave through by one of the senior agents." He repeated firmly.

Morgan spoke up. "Is agent Gina Sanchez considered senior enough for you?" The guards complexion paled slightly, considering the verbal beating he would get if these people were friends of Sanchez. He hailed over another guard. "You stay here with Wornt, and I'll go get Sanchez, see if she knows them." He ordered, and strode away, much too slowly for the agents.

"Tell her it's the BAU with the guy who knows where he lives and who's dog likes to sit on the couch." Morgan called cryptically after the receding form, raising eyebrows all around, including Wornt. "Inside joke." Morgan explained.

After a few minutes, the security guard entered, Gima following close at his heels.

"These guys are good to go through." He declared, and the team went through the agonisingly long process it took to relive themselves of all weapons, and to pass through metal detectors and such, to make sure they weren't carrying hidden cameras and such.

"Now, can you explain to me what is so urgent?" Gina asked.

"We're sorry for disturbing you, but we have had a case that has lead to one of our agents -you might remember him from our last visit, brown hair and eyes, nerdy looking- into protection." JJ started.

"We have just learned that he has been taken captive by this UNSUB, and we need to know where he is, right now." Hotch finished for her.

Gina looked across the grim faces, and decided their reasons were legit enough for a field trip through CIA headquarters. "Rough day, huh? Follow me, I'll take you to the head of the protection program."

"Rough six months, three weeks and four days" Emily muttered to herself.

Gina took the lead, pushing aside both double doors like she owned the place, as was her fashion, especially when an old friend was on trouble. She walked up to two agents monitoring several screens at once. "Socns, Brown, these FBI agents are looking about the location of one of their agents, Spencer Reid?" At once, at the name the agents became nervous at the name.

"He is- under special cover for his saftey." One replied.

"He got nabbed, so that special cover was really working." Morgan told him, a little of his old Boston slang coming back, now that he was angry.

The two agents paled, and looked at each other in trepidation. "Well, we don't know where he is. That information we don't know for extra security. The whole false identity only one person on the outside knows." The same one explained.

"Why don't you know his particular one?" Hotch asked, his voice dead straight.

"Wewereleftanotesayingtorevea ltheagentslocationonceitwasf ormed- orhewoulddounspeakablethings withaknife." The one who hadn't spoken yet blurted out in a rush, hardly coming up for air.

"So you did?" Prentiss exclaimed.

"No, we're not that weak. We arranged his protection with another. We have been living in a hotel, and keeping as far away as we can from our colleagues."the first one insisted, indicating how their desks had been recently moved farther away from the others.

"Why?" JJ asked, confused.

"The note was left on our desk. Postmen are hardly allowed to walk through HQ, are they?"

Hotch shook his head. "Just tell us who was organising his protection, I want to-" he was cut off by the two agents pointing to a hurried figure behind him, and turned.

"Jason Gideon."

**(Gina Sanchez is a character from episode 21 'secrets and lies' from season 1. She and Morgan got on pretty well... Do you think she should feature more in the story?) ... *insert rueful smile* you guys won't be too mad at me, right? Right? ... I might have dodged a verbal beating by having this chapter up on time, but I have a feeling a might get one anyway for such a cliffy. Sowie! Don't come after me with manical teddy bears and tazers!**

**But maybe I could stand it if you said it through a review :)**


	18. What?

**Chapter 18... Yeesh. I kinda understand it now when my grandpa says how time flies free :)**

**I've been completely knocked over by the amount of response to this story- thank you to everyone who has followed, faved, or reviewed! You guys would make Hotch put on a childish smile and shudder in excitement :p That puts such a weird image into my head...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own CM, but that would be pretty cool. **

Reid woke up, alone, and back in his cell, propped up against the wall on the wooden pallet that was a sore excuse for a bed. He felt terrible.

No only had the full pain came in full force, but he felt bad for antagonising his teammates so much as contracting them, trying to give them a small clue, and if they figured it out, which he thought they would, especially if they had gone straight to the CIA, and found that his case had been handled by Gideon. Yes, he thought, they would most definitely figure it out, and it would give them fresh hope of finding him.

Which was the main source of his foreboding, because he didn't want the team to despair when he showed up dead, and they worked out scenarios in which they could've saved him. He knew his team too well, that they would blame themselves for his death. Just like they all had done when Prentiss had supposedly been killed.

But there wasn't any elaborate scheme, and he wouldn't be coming back.

He realised it now, that this UNSUB was too evasive, to professional to make any mistakes, which the profile lived on. He had had maybe the slightest chance, before when he was under the protection program, free from the evil eye that had haunted him. But he had thrown that chance away, when he had joined the Soarosty Boys. A little bit of him still remained that earned for the carefree life, but most of him was regretting it, reminiscing on the memories he had of his time with the team.

He pushed himself away from those depressing thoughts, and wondered how the team were getting on, he had seen that Morgan was now free from his crutches, but Rossi had been shot, and he fervently hoped he would be okay. It was hard to judge time in this windowless hole, especially with his long black-out periods, but he reasoned that by now the team would've discovered that Gideon was responsible for sending him to his old home, Vegas. Would they blame him? He hoped not. The only person to blame for his current predicament was himself. He could imagine them maybe working together again, one last time, just like the old days.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

They all arrived back at the bureau about the same time, Prentiss, Morgan, Hotch, JJ, and Gideon and Gina, donning a visitors badge. The former gathering stares as he walked the hallways again.

Gideon went straight over and took a seat without asking, settling in just as he had done all those years ago. "Sure, take a seat." Hotch muttered, rubbing his eyes. No one else took a seat.

"Where have you been?" JJ choked out.

"Wandering from place to place, using up my retirement money." He answered vaguely.

"And so you just happened to be in DC when the CIA needed your help?" Morgan asked sceptically, aware that this was turning into more of an interview than a "I'll explain"

"Yes, actually, I was visiting and the overseers of the protection program recognised me from that time when we were investigating the mole." He explained.

"And now they think there's another one?" Gina asked.

"They got a note hand delivered to their desk. Could you tell me the chances of breaking into your facility?"

"Pretty much none. No one from the outside could've accomplished it, and maybe not even someone who knows where all the motion sensors and cameras are." He answered. "So there is another mole?"

"Maybe. There is lots of possibilities, the UNSUB could just be friends with a low ranking CIA agent, and asked them to deliver the note, for example."

"And you told Socns and Brown this?" Hotch questioned.

"Oh yes, but they were so afraid that they insisted, and I couldn't refuse. It was Reid." The team shifted uncomfortably, understanding what he meant. At that moment, Garcia entered, but left the talking to the others.

"Too much time behind a desk." Sanchez muttered. "I'll be going to the director about them, no backbone.

"Should we get on to finding out where this UNSUB has taken Reid, then?" Gideon asked.

"Yes, but first I want to clear something up with you." JJ demanded, and continued at his nod. "You have to understand how much it hurt when you left, for all of us, but especially Reid. You were the father he wished he had, and you just pulled the plug right after he had those problems, all without warning and little explanation. You have to promise that if we- when we get him back, you'll either stay and help, or leave with an apology, and a number we can contact you with." She finished, on the brink of tears

Gideon nodded. "I can only promise to try."

"Say it." Garcia said, surprising everyone.

"What?" He asked.

"Say it fully. Say I promise I'll try to not be a jerk again and walk out on everyone." She demanded.

"I promise I'll try not to be a jerk again and walk out on everyone."

"That'll be good enough for now." JJ confirmed.

"Now, onto Reid?" Morgan asked, struck by what JJ had said, but realised that he felt the same way, that they probably all did, and they were the only ones brave enough to say it.

"I did the one thing that is a definite no no on the lost of places of where to send your person. I sent him to Las Vegas. He is under the name of Darren Froan, and has different coloured hair and eyes, to match the hectic Vegas life." Gideon answered.

It took about one second for this to sink in, and all the agents faces got paler, until they were the colour of copier paper. Then Morgan sprung up, and looked for something to throw. Eventually he settled on whiteboard markers and a duster, and gave the wall a heavy kick. JJ and Emily just stood there, staring into space. They then crumpled into seats, unbelieving that they had been so close. Penelope just hit the floor, he tablet slipping from her hands. Hotch wanted to throw something like Morgan, but restrained himself and stood stock still, clenching his hands into fists so hard that they started to go purple, and the bones jutted out.

"What?" Sanchez and Gideon asked at the same time.

**Okay... I'm sooooooo sorry, this is such a short, sucky filler chapter. Please don't come after me with your rabid weasels :( **

**Review! And give me some ideas, too, if you can manage it. I have a fair idea of what's going to happen, I just need to fit in some details :D **


	19. Kiwi ice cream

**Chappie No. 19! We are getting nearer the end now :( Guess what? I've gotten 101 reviews, and what I did was just go back and reread every single one, and it still doesn't stop me from getting the warm fuzzies :)**

**Okay... I just want to say something. I'm sorry and stuff if I've come across as a review vampire or something... I just think there's no point in writing a story if no one reads and enjoys it, so yeah. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Mmmmmmmm. Also, I'm super sorry that I've fallen off the radar for ages, I just couldn't write. Life's been really hectic, and digest a few spare moment and just stare at the blank screen.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who enjoys this fanfic, and has faved, followed, and reviewed! See above to why it matters to me.**

**Disclaimer: If anyone out there reads this and owns the rights, donations will be greatly appreciated.**

To be honest, Gideon was a little nervous.

He had been gone for a few years, and had just come back to handle Reid's case, and what had happened? The man he considered a son had been captured, maybe killed. Of course, from the start he had known it was a risky move to send him back to Vegas, which was going against a few main rules in the matter of witness protection. He had consoled himself that the UNSUB probably knew those rules, so he had broken them. But still, he had failed and left the young agent al, on his own, imprisoned by a nightmare of a killer. He now had to face his old friends, all of them knowing whose fault it was.

And for the first time, they were all stumped, after starting the profile as best as they could before assuming too many variables. Right now they were sitting around the table, trying to think of anything they had missed, some fidgeting. Garcia had come down to Vegas with them, and was tapping away at her computer, analysing shockingly large amounts of information. Sanchez had also come down with them, because she considered it a matter of the CIA since the UNSUB had access to headquarters. She was hovering just as awkwardly as himself, the outsiders of the team. They had been rejoined by Reid's replacement Marcel, which Gideon thought was something of a blundering idiot, not worthy of the title of the genius' replacement. They all hoped fervently that an officer would walk in, with a pitying and apologetic expression on their face, declaring that they had found their friends body. Then they would inevitably have to face his dead face. He was sure it would turn many of them, including himself, into the depths of depression.

"You know, what I don't get-" JJ said, shaking them from their thoughts, directing her speech towards him. "Is why you let him do that to his _hair._" She finished, bringing forth a few chuckles despite the situation.

"Yea, I know it's Vegas we're talking about, but that is crazy!" Morgan exclaimed.

"The eyes too, they're such an acidic green, which is so different from his normal chocolatey brown. They also clash horribly with the green portion of his hair." Prentiss mused.

"I know what it reminders me of." Hotch decided. "Jack loves kiwi ice cream, and has this dark chocolate fudge sauce all over it, topped with those golden balls." The joke was mildly funny, but it left them all shaking vigorously with laughter that had been suppressed for so many days. All of them, that is, except for Marcel, who just sat there, looking awkward.

"Is it just me, or are his shoulders and 'cepts more muscular?" Morgan asked.

"Now that you mention it, yes, they are! He must have been going to the gym." JJ realised, cracking up again.

"He has changed quite a bit." A voice said from behind them.

They all whipped around, and saw Rossi standing there, grinning. He moved with winces, and not too fast either, but otherwise he was fine. Quickly he was introduced to Sanchez and Gideon, who stood and shook his hand. The two grizzled profilers gripped their hands tightly and gazed deep into each others eyes, both liking what they saw.

"Shouldn't you still be in hospital?" Morgan asked sceptical.

"Technically, but I'm sure Reid won't mind giving me a second opinion after we get him back." Rossi joked lightly, but immediately filled the room with hope and newfound determination by his words.

_He's good._ Gideon thought. _They found a perfect replacement for me._

He wasn't sure he felt about that.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

Reid was a little bored. He knew that the pain, or musing thought should've kept him well occupied, but he had been in the same room for forever, and nothing had happened since the phone call. He had done what seemed to him as thorough exercise, meaning dragging himself to the side of the room where he lay. Also he had tried remembering song lyrics, quotes and some of the many jokes that Morgan had cracked. He had even remembered that he still had his bright green contacts in, and removed them, and only after he did so realised how uncomfortable it had been wearing them.

He became aware of a stone digging into the small of his back, so reached down with his right arm and scooped it out. As he was going to throw the pebble away and continue to drift in boredom, he was struck with an idea. He pressed the stone to the wall beside him, and dragged it down. Sure enough, it left a grey streak behind it.

Releasing his creativity, he drew the equation on pi, taking up a large portion of the space as he did so. Moving off to another bare section of wall, he recalled the good memories he shared with the team, and drew their smiling faces as best as he could. Beside their faces, he drew corresponding objects that he linked to them, electrical equipment for Garcia, a gun in an ankle holster and Jack's name in big, childish block letters for Hotch, and so on. As an afterthought, he added portraits for Gideon and Elle, as well.

At the end, he shuffled back a little and took in the drawings, proud of them. He found new courage with them, and the world seemed a little brighter with the team looking over him. It was perfect.

He decided to leave that whole wall and moved on, drawing and writing things that came to mind.

After a few hours, he had nearly taken up all the space he could reach, including the floor, when the door suddenly opened. The UNSUB entered, glancing at the drawings with disgust, and dropped a thin pamphlet to the ground. They stayed stock still, brown eyes glaring into icy blue ones. None dared to make a sound.

Still, the UNSUB showed no sign of exiting the room, neither did Reid make a move to the pamphlet. The seconds stretched into minutes, and still the mental showdown continued. Finally the pale blonde haired man turned crisply and left the room.

Once he was quite sure that the UNSUB was gone, Reid moved forward and tipped the pamphlet towards him, so he could read the title.

The collection of information was on how to operate a parachute.

**Okay... Things are going to actually happen next chapter! Now, lets play guess why the UNSUB gave Reid instructions on how to operate a parachute? I really want to hear your predictions :) I'll see if I can update in 48 hours, or maybe 72...**


	20. Not so little anymore

**Chappie 20!**

**Ok, so yes, it is late, and yes, it's the latest in a long row of late updates. It's also very short.**

**Thank you so very much to everyone who has faved, followed, and reviewed this story! It was nice to hear all your predictions :p**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

Reid had fallen asleep pressed against the wall where he had drawn the faces of his teammates, the pamphlet was nearby, which had taken him only a few seconds to read. It hadn't said very much on the way of instructions, only the very bare basics.

He was awoken with a jolt by the loud grinding sound that emitted through the room by the hangar like door opening. His captor entered, a devilish grin plastered on his face, his fingers twitching with suppressed excitement.

"It's been three days, and unless I'm mistaken, you have no team bursting in to save you. They are the elite of their field, and they were given a chance, and they failed. Too bad for you." He gloated. As much as Reid hated it, he realised it was true. He would die before the sun set.

"You underestimate them" Reid croaked in response.

"I think you overestimate them. You'll definitely know it before long, when they're the reason you die."

Reid made no indication of replying, so the tall man grasped his left arm and cruelly dragged him from the room by it. If his skin had been healing from his previous scrapes, the scabbing had been ripped open as he was hauled along the rough concrete like a bag of flour. The UNSUB's pace was quick, and Reid had to try repeatedly to scramble to his feet, but eventually managed it, his whole body submerged in an inferno of pain.

They continued through the maze of corridors, which all melted into a dim haze through Reid's eyes, every passageway exactly like the other, his subconscious to pain filled to care the difference, not even when the pair burst out into the sunlight.

Dimly, Reid saw a sideways cylindrical shape looming above him.

================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"It's been two days, twenty two hours, and fourty nine minutes." Hotch declared. "We've nearly run out of time." Everyone in the room, -even Sanchez, who hadn't known Reid all that well- closed their eyes in dread.

"And that's means we have one hour and eleven minutes left." Morgan stood up to emphasise his words. "Come on, guys. We know this guy better than his mother does. What will he do next?"

"Something so huge and spectacular that leaves us helpless to him." Gideon said quietly.

"Garcia, are you getting this?" Emily asked, her eyes wide as she grabbed the sheet of paper that they had written the physical profile on. "We're looking for an unemployed white male in his thirties. As a child, he would have gotten some academic achievements, second and third more than first. He grew up in a small town, and has been repetitively fired from menial jobs, probably connected in some way to a lab, university or other occupations that require a high intellect. He will be far away from any surviving relatives as he can get, and he would not have any permanent residence"

"I've gotten forty seven hits, you know that."

"Now pull up the ones that have just inherited a high priced item, or a large sum of money."

The rapid clatter of the keys came through the speaker, and then there was a pause. "It's now down to twelve."

"And who is in the costal area right now out of that group?" Asked Rossi.

More clatter, then an excited response. "Seven."

Sanchez gave a jolt. "Did any of them apply to work in CIA in the year..." Her eyes flicked upward, so the rest of the people in the room figured she was either praying, or doing an extensive mathematical equation. "1984?"

"That's pretty specific, but those files are sealed."

"Unseal them. User is Sanchez, Gina and password-" she leaned in close to the speaker, whispering a jumbled collection of numbers and letters. "For your information, I will be changing that as soon as I get back." The last statement was met by reproachful looks and small nods.

"Okay, that's only one. A Philip Workman, and he sure looks like an UNSUB." Garcia told them. "He has recently come into a retired plane and airfield in Portland. Sending the addresses to you right now. Go get our little genius back."

"He's not so little anymore." Morgan muttered, glancing at the photo of their lost friend.

**Okay... I'm SO sorry I left you guys hanging for so long... Stuff happens. I was writing this, but then I decided to cut it off here rather than farther down than I expected, to make more of a chapter in those moments because they're important. So, it's the start of the big reveal next chapter!**

**Now, lets play a little game of why I like to call guess what a sideways cylindrical shape is?**

**PLEASE REVIEW. I'M NOT AFRAID TO BEG.**


End file.
